Welcome Home
by VegetaCold
Summary: After being killed by the androids, Vegeta finds himself stuck living with Frieza until an injury heals. But Frieza is nice-too nice, and Vegeta doesn't like it at all.


After Vegeta is killed by Android 17 in Future Trunks' timeline, he is sent to Hell where he finds all of his old "friends" waiting for him. He is surprised to find that they all fear him, but is even more surprised to find that Frieza, his former abusive master, acts as if he were his son and wants to take him in again. Even King Cold and Cooler treat him as part of the family. But as time passes and Vegeta grows weary of them, he soon learns that the Ice-jins may not be as nice as they seem...

* * *

Vegeta walked solemnly down the grey, dull colored bricked path that lead to the palace-like structure in front of him. The check-in station. His yellow tipped boots clicked softly with each step he took, bringing him closer and closer to the place where his fate would be decided.

He knew this because he had been there once before. He had been judged there once before, judged fairly yet so cruelly, by a huge, red creature with slanted horns. Like the devil, he remembered thinking, but this being had not seemed intimidating in the least. He wasn't that powerful at all, Vegeta had thought. Defeating him would be like killing two of Raditz. King Yemma, that was his name, and he had judged Vegeta after he was killed on Namek by his former master, Frieza.

Frieza had shot him swiftly through his heart, and after he did, Vegeta remembered it had felt like he was being ripped from his own body, his _soul _wasbeing ripped from his body, by some powerful hand. That hand carried him upward, faster than the speed of light, away from the planet Namek. Cliche as it sounded, he had been traveling through some tunnel of bright, heavenly light, a sort of passageway, bridge, between the world of the living and the world of the dead. And there was no way to describe what that had felt like. Even now, after experiencing it second time, he could not explain the feeling. It had been fast, electrifying, a rush, and... The best way he could come up with to describe it was that he had felt like he was a current of electricity, surging from one of those high voltage, do-not-touch wires. He had only experienced that feeling for a moment, and then, just like that, it was over and he was somewhere else, standing on the same bricked path he stood now. He had still had his body, clothed in the same tattered navy jumpsuit, dirt smudged white boots and gloves, broken armor with a single hole where the heart would rest underneath. But there was something he had not had on Namek. A golden halo had floated over his head, making him look like some kind of angel, confirming he was dead. Standing there on the path, looking like a fallen soldier who'd lost the battle—the war—because of a single bullet, he had not known what was going on or what he was supposed to do now that he was dead. On impulse, he had decided to follow the grey path, and in no time he found himself standing before the notorious King Yemma of Other World.

King Yemma had spared him no mercy. Yemma was the type of person who played by the rules, followed the book exactly, Vegeta had learned quickly. So when he showed up at the check-in station, King Yemma had sent him to Hell without any hesitation whatsoever, but not before rattling off all the things he'd ever done wrong, and Vegeta supposed that the deity had felt the need to justify his decision. Vegeta hadn't been surprised by this in the least, but he had felt angered, enraged was more like it, that his whole life had been a living hell, and now, when he had finally escaped that painful reality and died, there would be no break from it, no resting in peace. He would be put through hell once again, literally this time. He had felt so vexed at this realization, but he did not challenge Yemma, like he would have done under normal circumstances. He had felt too worthless, pathetic, and humiliated after his defeat at Frieza's hands, and he had been afraid that if he did challenge Yemma, he might be defeated, twice in one day, and have whatever was left of his pride snatched away from him and smashed to tiny pieces that he would never fully be able to pick up. So he had complied, and King Yemma had sent him to Hell.

Vegeta remembered what an odd place Hell was. It was a rocky, mountainous area, an ominous purplish-red sky looming overhead, jagged trees and rocks jutting up from the ground, but a part of it had reminded him of a suburban park. It had green, leafy trees and grass that grew from the sandy yellow ground, benches and walkways, signs and trash cans. It even had a fountain, but the only difference was that this fountain did not have clear, cool water like the ones he had seen while conquering planets for Frieza; the water in this fountain was not really water at all, and instead was a thick, lukewarm liquid colored deeply red. The fountain was called the Blood Fountain, but this had bothered neither him nor the other occupants of Hell, and on more than one occasion, he had seen little white orbs which he had decided were souls, not lucky enough to keep their bodies, sitting in little boats and rowing around the pond. He realized that Hell was not a place where the damned were tortured and punished for their evil deeds. Heaven and Hell, he had decided, were just two places to keep the good and the bad apart from each other, to distinguish those souls for what they were, to keep order and balance. He had felt relieved, and thought maybe he would try to make the best of his time there. He had looked for Cui, Dodoria, Zarbon, the Ginyus, anyone he had known or killed on Namek, so he could have some fun and mess with them, with would cheer him up greatly. But he hadn't seen any of them, and he had decided to sit down and rest instead. He spent the majority of his time in Hell sitting up against a pleasant looking leafed tree.

Then, suddenly, he hadn't been in Hell at all. He had been coming up out of the stoney ground of planet Namek like a zombie in some R rated horror movie, hand shooting up out of the ground first and clawing at the air. But it hadn't been that simple, regaining the life he had lost. He remembered vaguely how that had felt, too, like traveling through the very fabric of time, _whooshing _back through that tunnel of heavenly light, then falling back into his broken body with a whisper, a sigh, a sigh that sounded inhuman and ghostly, a sigh that only he heard. And then he had felt the weight of the dirt on top of them, felt the need to breathe, realized that he was under the earth, buried alive_. _That was when he had broken through the ground to see the dark yet psychedelic sky of planet Namek.

Traveling to Other World this time had felt very similar to the last. Feeling like being a surging, powerful current of electricity, the blindingly spectacular light, the rush it gave him as the wind sighed, carrying him down that tunnel in a moment, one he would never forget but would not ever be able to fully explain. He had felt it all once more, and realized that there was no difference between this time and the last.

There was, of course, quite a difference in the way that he was killed.

Android 17 at least hadn't toyed with him as much as Frieza had, but that was to be expected—Frieza _always_ toyed with him. 17 had killed him quickly and easily with a single, solitary blow, unlike Frieza who had practically spent that entire afternoon beating him to a bloody pulp before finally killing him off. Apparently the android hadn't had the time to play around with him, Vegeta thought bitterly. Too many cities to destroy and innocents to kill, so why bother with him? He was nothing. No one was.

Suddenly, as he walked down the stone pathway to the check-in station, he wondered if Goku and Piccolo had felt as he had after they'd died. Is it the same for everyone, he wondered? But it really didn't matter, because knowing how heroic and good they were, they would go to Heaven and he would never have the chance to ask them.

He had no doubt in his mind about that, even as the check-in station's shadow loomed over him menacingly and a small spark of hope wanted to catch fire and make him believe that there was even a chance he would be sent to Heaven.

He didn't know why, but a small part of him wanted more than anything to be known as a good, selfless person who could die any time he liked and be allowed into Heaven without any hesitation whatsoever from the higher powers. But he had never been that kind of person, and he knew he would never be. So this hope, this longing, was ridiculous. Who wanted to be selfless anyway? Who wanted to be a hero?

Sometimes, he did.

And though he tried, he had never done anything heroic. All he'd managed to do was get himself killed and leave his wife and newborn son behind. The thought stung him sufficiently, and he cringed when a mental image of his son (who wasn't even a year old yet and would grow up and live his life without ever having a father, he noted) formed in his mind.

He pushed the thought of Trunks -that was what they had finally agreed on calling him, Bulma and he—Trunks—out of his mind, knowing it would do no good to dwell, as it never did, he had learned, and focused on the check-in station as he neared it.

He stopped outside for a small, hesitant moment before walking into the doorway of the place and staring into it.

There he was, the bastard. He realized that King Yemma looked no different than last time, but it did not surprise him. Gods didn't age, he told himself.

King Yemma didn't notice him. He was sitting at his desk, staring down at a huge, worn red book with gold piping which Vegeta knew was where records of everyone who had ever died were kept. He scribbled in it ferociously with a ball point pen, murmuring something to himself. It sounded like cussing.

Vegeta frowned deeply, thinking how sadly ironic it was that he was a Super Saiyan now, the most feared warrior in the cosmos, yet no one even spared him a passing glance. Some prince he was. He stomped his foot down on the hard floor of the check-in station to get his attention. King Yemma started and jerked his head up from his work. He frowned when he realized who it was standing before him.

"Oh, it's you. So, how'd you manage die this time, tough guy?" Yemma drawled, sounding amused yet annoyed at the same time.

"Cut the crap, Yemma. I don't need this bullshit. Just tell me I'm going to Hell already and you'll save us both a lot of trouble," he sneered.

King Yemma's assistants, blue ogres with horns that stuck up out of messes of black hair, all gasped in astonishment at his rudeness. They were prepared to defend their boss but stopped dead in their tracks when Yemma burst out laughing.

Vegeta scowled as he stared at the laughing god before him. His eyes narrowed, his nose turned up, and he placed his hands at his hips defiantly.

"Would you be so kind as to inform me what the hell is so funny?"

King Yemma slowly stopped laughing and wiped at his tear-filled eyes. "You've got some serious balls there, Vegeta. You're the only one who's ever dared to talk to me like that."

"Uh huh," Vegeta said, unamused. "Can we please get this over with?"

King Yemma cocked an eyebrow, then slowly turned his attention to the book on his desk. He brushed the pen off and it rolled away carelessly as he began to leaf through it. "So, those androids killed you, huh? 17?"

"Who did you think?" Vegeta asked.

King Yemma shrugged his broad shoulders. "I just needed to make sure. How did Android 17 kill you, exactly?" he asked, finding the rollaway pen and picking it up.

"I would have thought someone like you would've already known that, but oh well. It wasn't an energy blast, but he hit pretty hard."

King Yemma nodded gravely. "I see." He scribbled something down.

"So I am going to Hell, correct?"

King Yemma stared down at the book and sighed. "Yes, it looks that way."

It was no surprise, and because Vegeta already knew what Hell looked like, it did not upset him much. But there were some things he wanted to know, several questions turning around in his mind, and he figured that as long as he was here, he might as well get some of them answered.

He had been wondering, and still was, why unlike everyone else dead he had seen, he was the only one who got to keep their body. He wondered if maybe Cui, Dodoria, Zarbon, and the Ginyus hadn't been standing right in front of him that first time in Hell, and he just hadn't realized it because they did not have their bodies for him to recognize.

"I've been wondering about a few things," Vegeta started, and King Yemma looked at him in surprise but did not silence him. "When I was in Hell that first time, after Frieza killed me, I had had my body, but I didn't see anyone else with theirs. So why do I get to keep my body while they don't?"

"When extremely strong warriors die, good or bad, they are usually able to create, or manifest, a new body on their own because of the strength they possess. Their physical power allows them to. And there aren't many people out there who are as strong as you, Vegeta. In fact, there are many who aren't strong at all, so it doesn't surprise me in the least that you didn't see anyone else with a body," King Yemma said.

"Well, when I was on Namek, I killed some pretty strong people who I have no doubt went to Hell, and I didn't see them," Vegeta responded.

King Yemma smiled wanly and picked up the book. "Oh yes, I remember them very well." His huge red fingers began to flip through the pages, yellowed with age. When he found the page he was looking for he stopped and read through the list of names. He tapped something at the bottom of the page with his pointer finger.

"Here it is. Cui, Dodoria, Zarbon, Guldo, Burter, Reacoom, and Jeice, all killed by you, in that order, correct?" Yemma said, looking at Vegeta over his book.

Vegeta nodded without smiling. "Yes, that's them. Did they have their bodies, or—"

"Yes, they did, and being as strong as they were, it didn't surprise me at all. But you didn't see them?"

"I guess I didn't look hard enough," Vegeta said.

King Yemma smirked at him. "Well, you'll have plenty of time for that, Vegeta. Trust me."

Vegeta ignored his remark and continued on. "You didn't happen to see..."

A frown slowly spread over Yemma's face. "If you're asking about Goku, he went down Snake Way to train with King Kai. And Piccolo is in Heaven."

Vegeta frowned as well. "No, I wasn't going to ask about them. I was going to ask you if anyone by the name of Frieza came by here?"

Yemma began to chuckle bitterly and shake his head from side to side knowingly.

"So I take it he did?" Vegeta said, a smile creeping up onto the corners of his pale lips.

"Oh, he did alright, he and his father and brother. The little bastard demolished the entire check-in station and nearly killed half my assistants. What a pain he was to deal with," King Yemma said, still shaking his head.

"I don't doubt he was, and I don't doubt he's in Hell either."

"Would you have expected him to end up anywhere else?" Yemma said.

"No, but I had hoped I wouldn't have to deal with him again," Vegeta said quietly, staring down at his boots.

He knew he could beat Frieza now; he was a Super Saiyan, after all, so being too weak was not the problem. No, the problem was something far deeper and complicated. He was humiliated and ashamed of the fact that he had mocked and taunted and spat in Frieza's face, thinking he could beat him, only to be crushed and broken, put to sleep. And he did not want to face the reality of that. But when Frieza realized he had died, he would make him face that reality, and Vegeta was sure of that. Frieza would make sure that, for him, being in Hell was what he always imagined it was supposed to be—hellish. Vegeta didn't even want to think about that.

King Yemma sighed and gave him an almost sympathetic look. "Listen, Vegeta," Yemma said. "I'm really not supposed to allow anything like this to happen, let alone tell anyone to do it, but in your case, I think I can make an exception. If you ever feel like it's necessary—" he leaned over the desk, turned his head slightly, put a hand to the side of his mouth as if to whisper a secret, and glanced suspiciously from side to side "—or if you just feel like it, that's fine too, don't hesitate to beat them up, alright?"

For some reason, Vegeta couldn't keep himself from smiling. Maybe beating Frieza to a bloody pulp and showing him just who the strongest was would make his time in Hell a little easier. "Thanks, Yemma."

Yemma nodded. "Don't mention it, and I mean that seriously. Now, you'd better go before I have a line ten miles long. You know the way."

Vegeta turned around and saw the line of souls, none with bodies, he noted, waiting to be checked in. The line seemed long and never-ending, but he realized he would never know because it stretched out of sight.

There was no doubt in his mind, none at all, that these souls had had their lives taken away by the androids. He was saddened, appalled, frightened even, that this many people had already fallen victim to them. Sighing, he turned away and started for the doorway that led to the path that would bring him to Hell. The pathway was long and narrow and beneath it a pool of red liquid bubbled ominously. As he walked down it, stones crumbling with each step he took, he tried to think positively (as positively as someone with a mind like his could think) about the place he would soon be forced to call his home. About Frieza.

"Maybe I won't see him. Or maybe he won't want to challenge me, now that I'm a Super Saiyan," Vegeta said quietly to himself.

But as he approached the entryway to Hell, its wrought iron gates standing open for him like a hungry mouth, ready to swallow him alive, he saw something out of the corner of his eye. He turned slightly and peered between the metal bars of the gate into Hell. Frieza was peeking out from behind a withered, leafless tree beside the Blood Fountain. His eyes were hellish red, shining with evil, fixed on Vegeta. He was grinning broadly, exposing sharp, penetrating teeth—almost fangs. His white hands clawed at the bark of the tree eagerly, chipping his perfectly manicured nails. His tail swished back and forth behind him in the same manner.

Frieza opened his mouth and uttered, faraway and ghostly, _"Come in, Vegeta, come in..."_

Vegeta went rigid with fear and gasped as he took a step backwards, away from the gates.

_"We've been waiting for you..."_

Vegeta jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

Jerking his head around, he found himself staring into the eyes of one of King Yemma's ogre assistants. Glasses, a buttoned-up white shirt with several pens shoved into the pockets neatly, tucked into a pair of plain pants. He smiled brightly at Vegeta.

"Hell is that way, sir," he said cheerfully and pointed toward the gates.

Vegeta reluctantly followed his gaze to where he was pointing, unsure of what he would see next.

The gates stood there, just as they had, points sharp and intimidating. Inside them, Hell was silent and empty. The tree, densely green with lush leafs, stood alone beside the fountain. The bark of the tree, unharmed.

A sigh escaped him.

"Go on, sir," the ogre said.

Vegeta pulled himself together, and as he walked toward the gates that guarded the place that would become his eternal prison, he told himself, over and over,_ it was just my imagination, it was just my imagination, IT WAS JUST MY IMAGINATION..._

But as he stepped through the gates of Hell and they clanged shut behind him, locking him forever inside, something told him that it wasn't.

* * *

Vegeta stood at the gates and watched as the blue ogre walked back up the path in an easy fashion. He could hear the ogre humming a tune, almost singing, unselfconsciously. It was high and chirpy and echoed throughout the surrounding rocky structures in an unfitting and anticlimactic manner. Vegeta would normally have found it amusing and maybe even laughed, but now he was too shaken up to do such a thing.

Even after the ogre ducked into the check-in station and disappeared from sight, he continued to stare at the path from behind the iron gates. A part of him did not want to turn around, fearing he would see Frieza peeking out from behind the tree again, staring at him sadistically, or worse, he would turn and Frieza would be right behind him, and would pounce on him and do something unspeakable to him. He could see the latter happening clearly in his mind, and the unpleasantness of the idea made him sick. He did not turn around, as if that could prevent what he was sure was coming. The path and the gates held safety, safety he suddenly longed for and craved. He wanted to be on that path, walking back up toward the check-in station. He wanted to be in Heaven.

But why, he was suddenly asking himself. Why did he secretly want help? Even if Frieza was standing right behind him now and wanted to do the unspeakable thing to him, he was a Super Saiyan, and he believed that he could defeat Frieza no matter how powerful the Ice-jin was or had become in the time he'd been dead. Frieza feared Super Saiyans after all, and surely he wouldn't try to take him on now that he had become one. When Frieza found out he was here in Hell he would probably start shaking like a leaf and go running to his daddy with his tail between his legs. The thought gave Vegeta all the power he needed to turn around and face whatever was there.

But there was no one.

He sighed, and a self-indulgent giggle escaped him. He had been worrying for nothing.

He began to glance around Hell, eyes darting slightly nervously, as if to confirm it.

From what he could tell, it was exactly the same as it had been when he'd come here however many years ago—it seemed like centuries, mainly because so much had changed. The first thing you saw when you entered Hell was the Blood Fountain, and Vegeta didn't think that that had been completely unintentional. It did not bother him, but he could understand how it would be intimidating for someone squeamish and weak stomached. Good thing he wasn't, he thought, almost dismally. He had been, but after seeing so much gore and violence in his lifetime it seemed he could stomach anything. He vaguely remembered throwing up only once, after going on his first mission with Frieza.

Vegeta saw two souls, glowing bright and eminently, rowing around the fountain in a little boat. Vegeta thought they looked innocent enough, and wondered why King Yemma had sent them to Hell. They didn't seem like the type. To the left of the Blood Fountain there was the tree he'd seen—imagined, he corrected himself—Frieza standing behind, and several others. They were all dusted with lush green leafs that rustled with the faint breeze and low hanging branches that provided ample shade for a weary traveler, such as himself. There were the benches at evenly spaced intervals along the sandy yellow path that circled the Blood Fountain, but the hot, domineering sun sparkled down on them, reflecting rays of blinding light off the molten metal, and Vegeta thought they looked hardly pleasant, as he had the last time he'd been here. He was already warm and dizzy, and he decided under the shade of the tree was the best place to sit, unless, of course, he wanted to pass out and be vulnerable to anyone who might come along...

He shoved this thought out of his head and went quickly over to one of the trees, aware that he was making sure not to sit under the one he'd seen Frieza. As he sat himself down and leaned against the sturdy trunk of the tree, it suddenly dawned on him that the tree he'd seen Frieza behind was the same tree he'd sat under during the majority of the time he'd spend in Hell after he had been killed the first time. Part of him wanted to dismiss it as hallucination, another part wanted to examine it, read into it, contemplate all the reasons it could mean something. But he was too afraid to let himself think that, and he did the former and tried to occupy his mind with something else. Ignorance is bliss, he remembered hearing a lot as a child and a teenager...

Frieza loved that phrase, and loved to overuse it and emphasize it, but only around Vegeta. Vegeta had never understood why until later on, when he had been twenty or so. He had been going to see Frieza, reporting for duty, when he heard the Ice-jin talking from inside his throne room to Zarbon and Dodoria. He'd been say what a miracle it was that they'd managed to keep Vegeta in the dark about the fact that his planet had not been destroyed but a meteor, but by him, of course. It was really a miracle, because Vegeta would rebel in a heartbeat if he ever found out, Frieza had said. "It would hurt the poor little thing so much if he ever knew the truth, and we don't want that to happen, now do we?" Vegeta heard Frieza say with false sincerity. "Of course we don't," he continued without waiting for a response from Zarbon and Dodoria. "It's better that he doesn't know, for him and for me. After all, _ignorance is bliss._" And of course, everything became clear and Vegeta understood from then on.

Now, Vegeta thought, _oh, how true, ignorance is bliss, _but another thought followed suit, a thought ringing with truth and clarity, _but that blissful ignorance hurts so much after you finally learn the truth._

Vegeta cringed and looked over at the tree where he'd imagined Frieza. It could mean something, yes, but Vegeta really didn't think so. He had been dripping with apprehension and self-doubt, felt unconfident, and he had been tired and woozy, so was it more likely that he'd actually seen Frieza or that it had been a hallucination? Vegeta decided on the latter with only a small twinge of ambiguity. He couldn't remember ever hallucinating before, but if he had he figured the conditions would have to be similar to this.

He turned away from the tree where he'd seen Frieza and continued looking about Hell, attempting to take his mind off the Ice-jin.

Except for the couple in the boat, the place was deserted. The part of Hell with the dark sky, its clouds jagged and twisted like the rock formations that arose from the bubbling lakes of lava, was a ghost town as well, from what he could see. Hell was a big place, and he figured that the others must be farther into it, away from the gates. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see more souls filing out of the check-in station in a single file line. At the front of the line was the same ogre he'd run into, guiding them down the crumbling pathway and toward the gates of Hell. As the ogre opened the gates and let the souls in, his eyes found Vegeta and he waved companionably. Vegeta chuckled slightly and waved back in good humor. The ogre shut the gates, trapping the souls inside, who dispersed quickly in all different directions, as if they had somewhere to be or a board meeting to catch. The thought made him chuckle again.

Vegeta turned his attention back to the Blood Fountain. He hadn't noticed before that the couple in the boat was murmuring quietly, crooning lovingly to each other as they rowed around the fountain. Though Vegeta couldn't hear what they were saying, he knew they were lovers. Bulma and he had often talked in that manner, and so had Frieza when he would...

As these two thoughts mingled in his mind, Vegeta became sick and had to turn away from the couple before he vomited up whatever was in his stomach. He managed to at least ease his mind of the latter, because he had put that behind him many years ago. He vowed never to think of those nights and pretended they never happened, just as Frieza always had. But Bulma, his wife who he loved more than anything but would never admit to it, was a different matter all together. He couldn't just put her out of his mind like he had done Frieza, no matter how much he tried. She was special, and those nights with her were special. And Trunks was special. He would never admit to that either, but it was the truth. He loved Trunks, perhaps more than her, even despite the fact that he had hardly known him.

Vegeta wondered what Trunks would look like when he got older. Would he look like him, or Bulma, or both? Vegeta had not been able to tell when he looked at Trunks, but a small part of him hoped the boy would turn out looking more like him than Bulma. He hoped he would look Saiyan, despite the fact that he did not have a tail.

He hoped Trunks grew up to be strong. When he had learned that Bulma was pregnant, that was what he had been excited for most: a son who he could train to be the greatest warrior in the universe. And that was why he hadn't left her. Having to raise a child was hell, and he'd made sure he gave his own parents (and Frieza, for that matter) plenty of it. So he had been afraid that the kid would be as bratty as he had been, or more, for that matter, and he was close to leaving her to raise the kid herself when he realized he could teach the child how to fight and eventually become a Super Saiyan. He would have an heir, someone just like him who could go on and teach his own children the ways of the Saiyans, carry on the legacy. And a new race of Saiyans would arise, a race of Super Saiyans. And so Vegeta had stayed, overjoyed at this realization and prepared to raise the boy.

Then, the androids came.

Vegeta was beginning to slip off into sleep, though he did not realize it. His thoughts of Trunks and Bulma faded into dreams, dreams of their future together, of raising Trunks to be his perfect son, of the new Super Saiyan race that would never be. Vegeta's sleep was deep and it would be almost a full hour before he would jerk awake and stare around the place he was forever confined in confusion. At this time the sun had shifted and was now shining directly down on him, despite the shade of the tree, and his head was pounding agonizingly. He reached up and held his head as he stood. The couple in the fountain had gone, and the row boat sat deserted. Another couple walked beside each other on the gravel path that wrapped around the fountain, and more souls came traipsing down the pathway that lead to the gates. Vegeta had no idea what time it was, but he could tell it was much later.

"Ugh, how long was I out?" he said, his voice hoarse and raspy.

The pain in his head was immense, and a soft groan escaped him. "Shit..." he said dismally.

He had never had a headache like this, but he figured it was from the sun and sleeping too long. He decided he would go walk it off, get his blood pumping. Perhaps he just wasn't fully awake yet, and exercise might help. He began to run down the pathway, already feeling his headache lightening, but he could not shake the sense of unease he had gained, because he knew so well that ignorance only hurt in the end, and that sleep was, of course, ignorance.

* * *

As Vegeta jogged, he felt his heart race. It thudded like a hammer against cloth, thudded loudly and almost overpowered the sound of his white boots slapping on the gravel path, crunching the dirt beneath them. They were sounds he liked, because he drew a sort of comfort and exhilaration from them. The familiar sounds of exercising and training, working to be the best, the strongest -doing something about the fact that there was someone he believed to be stronger than himself, instead of just moping about the fact that he could not defeat this man without any work involved. He liked it.

He also liked the fact that his headache had almost gone. The only trace of it that remained was a dull thudding, but it did not bother him much. He felt so awake, so ready to take on anything, so—almost—alive. Since he'd been just a child, he had connected sleep with weakness. Being out, unconscious to the world around you, being vulnerable, being weak, and that was true. But when he was awake, he felt alive, felt powerful, and that was true too. He had never liked sleeping, and tried to avoid it as often as possible, so when he'd first come to Frieza's ship he refused to sleep and trained instead. Frieza found this out and resorted to drugging his food to force him to sleep, which was something he took a great pleasure in doing because he knew how it bothered the prince. And Vegeta resented that.

He had hated sleeping in that place, afraid that something would be done to him while he was out, or dead, but Frieza would not feed him anything but the drugged food—though he could have as much as he wanted of it, Frieza had promised him softly in an attempt to get him to eat it—and Vegeta never wanted to even touch it, but he always go so hungry that he would give in and eat, and every night he could be found tucked in bed under the covers and asleep soundly. He would awaken slowly and groggily late the next morning, and as he stumbled out of his bed, he would wonder if anything had been done to him while he'd been asleep.

Vegeta wondered this now.

He really could not believe he had allowed himself to nod off. What had he been thinking? He was in Hell, surrounded by all the people that hated him and wanted revenge for their deaths on Namek... and Frieza, who probably wanted to find some way to make him pay for his disobedience, and he had just allowed himself to go to sleep out in the open? How could he? He figured it was partially to do with the fact that he had begun to feel comfortable going to sleep on Earth, had gotten used to lying down at night and not being afraid that something unspeakable would be done to him in the dark. He felt safe around Bulma, around Trunks, around the other earthlings, even Kakarot, despite the fact the he did not like him much. And the sun was part of it, he thought. Heat had always had its way of making him sluggish for whatever reason, which was something Frieza knew, too. He liked to exploit that as much as he could, once again because he was aware that it bothered Vegeta. He liked to make sure the prince's room was warm, so warm that Vegeta became uncomfortable and heavy-eyed whenever he retreated there. Frieza did this because he liked to see him weak. He liked to see him dead.

Vegeta allowed himself to believe that nothing had ever happened to him while he was out. Perhaps Frieza had been in his bedroom—he had a password that would open any door he wanted, even if it was locked, which it usually was in the prince's case—watching him while he slept, which was an awful thing in itself but better than if Frieza had actually _done _something. That had come later. No, he did not do the thing, perhaps he'd been contemplating it but had not done it then, and Vegeta thought if he had, there would have at least been talk, which there never was. He thought Frieza might have mentioned it or at least slipped a few hidden innuendoes or hints into their conversation the next morning, but he never did.

Now Vegeta thought the same applied to this situation. If something had been done to him while he'd been napping, wouldn't the culprit waited, then laughed in his distraught face when he awakened? They would want to have the satisfaction of seeing his reaction, the look on his face, so they would not have left. No, there was nothing to laugh at because nothing had been done, no satisfaction to be had. He was all right. Nothing had been done, but he would be more careful next time, that was for sure. He would not let himself be vulnerable again. Suddenly, as he jogged, he remembered those mornings after Frieza had done the thing to him. Frieza never said anything, never looked at him funny, nothing. He acted as if nothing had ever happened and things were the same between them, which, to Vegeta, was distressing and confusing but also a relief because no one, save the two of them, ever knew about it.

But nothing had been done, he convinced himself despite this. He would _know _if Frieza had done the unspeakable thing to him, he wouldn't have stayed asleep. _Nothing _had been done, and he was sure of that.

He forced himself to focus on jogging, on the power, on the sound. His boots slapped against the gravel, crunching the small stones to powder as he ran. Dust floated around him, stirred by his movements. Though his headache was now completely gone he decided to continue running, because he loved how it felt and because he felt that he could not stop. He would not allow himself to.

He was focused, but he could feel the souls around him staring. He felt their eyes, picking, protruding. They did not understand why this man clothed in shattered armor and a tattered navy blue jumpsuit was running along the path, but no matter. They were not like him. They did not crave strength, they did not know the pressure of becoming the strongest. They were ignorant, and he ran harder, showing them that he did not care what they thought. He always did.

He decided he would run further into Hell. To him, there was no avoiding the inevitable. He would see Frieza, he would see King Cold and Cooler, he would see the Ginyus—save their captain, he was probably still a frog—and he would see Zarbon and Dodoria and Cui. There really was no reason to prolong it, and why should he? He was stronger then the best of them, and so there was no reason he should cower near the gates so the ogres watching would see if anything happened. He was a Super Saiyan, and he planned to exploit that. King Yemma had said so himself. What Vegeta would do once he found them would boost his self-esteem and show them who was really the strongest, once and for all. He would defeat Frieza in front of all of them, just as the Ice-jin had him on Namek. He would humiliate him, make him kiss his feet and beg for mercy, and in turn Vegeta would laugh. He would laugh, and so would they. They would _all_ laugh at their former master, wondering why they feared him so much as they bowed down to the almighty Super Saiyan Vegeta, pledging their allegiance to him and to him alone. Vegeta liked that thought, implausible as it sounded.

Vegeta also wanted to see what the rest of Hell looked like. He felt as he had when he'd been young, exploring old houses, searching for valuables for his master: he was curious. Something told him that he would never see Earth again, would never see his wife and son, and if that was true, he wanted to find a place he could live up here, a place he could call his own; he would find his fortress, his hideout, his palace—the place no one dared to near because they knew of the power inside. He would kill Frieza and the rest of those lapdogs, and then he would go house hunting. It would be like a sort of subdued version of the house hunting Frieza liked to do, in which he would drag Vegeta along for input and they would search, planet to planet, for the perfect spot for Frieza's palace to be built. Except this time, Vegeta would do it his way. He wouldn't just put on his fake smile and nod whenever Frieza asked him if he liked the place they were searching, for whatever reason he cared.

As Vegeta ran further, the sky began to darken as he left the safety of the suburban park. The rocks became jagged, the trees lost their leafs and stood brittle and twisted, and it was noticeably warmer. The lakes of red bubbling liquid emanated heat and an awful rotting stench. Vegeta wrinkled his nose and veered away from the pond, towards the part of Hell that the sky was darker still. He could sense them there, could sense their energies. He thought they were all there, but he could not be sure. He could make out a few of the stronger energies, but the odd thing was was how jumbled together they all felt. He couldn't tell wether or not Frieza was there, but he hoped so, feeling ready to put operation "humiliate Frieza until he cries" into action.

He ran faster, determined, unstoppable, closing in for the kill. He would redeem himself. He would win and Frieza would lose, for once, Frieza would lose.

He grinned, psychotically, as his ki flared brilliantly. His silky onyx hair flashed once, and glowed a golden yellow as power surged around his body, flaring up like currents of electricity from live wires come loose. His eyes glowed green, sparkling in the odd light of Hell. In that moment as he stood there, bolts of lightning striking down from the skies around him, he felt infinite, untouchable. For a moment the androids did not exist, nor did Frieza, nor did Hell. For a moment all that existed in his mind was the power, the insane power that he wielded like a sword, a sword carried throughout a raging battle and thrust at the opponent, its wielder's life depended on then and seen as an extension of the arm by him, faith in that sword unwavering as he strikes and continues on, fighting his way through the sea of enemies, defeating them with that sword. He could feel the power, could feel the depths of power inside him yet to be unlocked, for a moment in time.

Then, as quickly as that moment had come, it was over and his mind shifted back into reality, a reality where the androids _did_ exist, where Frieza existed, and where Hell existed.

"_Shit_..." he said slowly, reaching up a hand and pressing it into his golden hair at the side of his head, holding it. It had begun pounding again, not as badly as when he'd woken up but badly enough. It had been the first time that had ever come over him when he'd transformed into a Super Saiyan, and though the feeling was not in the least unpleasant it was extremely overwhelming, feeling nothing but the power that he had and the power that he had yet to unlock. He began to rub his temples in slow circles, attempting to ease the throbbing pain.

It was then that he remembered why he had transformed into Super Saiyan in the first place. Cui, Dodoria, Zarbon, the Ginyus, Cooler, King Cold, and Frieza... _Exercise always helps headaches,_ he thought. _Maybe I should go get some..._

Now, more confident than ever that he could defeat Frieza, he began to head toward the direction he had sensed them in.

* * *

Vegeta flew to the spot the force of powers emanated from, his heart racing irregularly. It thudded quickly and sporadically, fluttering like a minnow squirming its way through a school of fish, trying to escape the inevitable, a fisherman's net. As he came closer and closer with each passing second, the minnow inside his chest thrashed more frantically, as if trying to create a passage way, a hole through which it could break free. But this minnow, which he was convinced had found its way into his chest when Frieza had first become a, more or less, part of his life, could not break free, could not find a way out. It was always there, even now.

He could remember feeling this tiny fish, this sensation as if the minnow was turning his heart inside out, twisting and wringing it, snaking its way through the veins, when he'd been very young. As he pushed the doors open to Frieza's throne room, it seemed to awaken, to come alive. It could sense danger. When he saw Frieza, it stirred. When Frieza's intimidating voice flooded his head like odd, indifferent music, it did a flip. When Frieza touched him, whether it was gentle and perhaps attempting to soothe him or harsh and reprimanding—yet still filled with an unnerving sort of affection, Vegeta always noted—the minnow thrashed. But it did not escape, never could. His heart was the net, and inside it was trapped. And now it thrashed as it had during those painful lessons taught, during those times of Frieza's equally sporadic love for him, during those long, seemingly never-ending nights...

It thrashed as if those times had mutated into one hideously deformed yet somehow strangely beautiful thing.

He could not deny that he was nervous. He felt this power, this incomprehensible force that flared inside him, but it seemed diluted, watered down, by a thick blanket of weakness that always seemed to be wrapped around him, that seemed to suffocate him. He had always held this certain knowledge: no matter how physically strong he became, he would always be mentally weak. This knowledge had come from someone who he had always believed to spew nothing but shit, but he knew what had been said was true and questioned his perception of reality from then on. Frieza had been training Vegeta one slow day on the ship, and when encouraged by the young, ignorant prince to fight him with his full power, in order to see just how much more powerful the Ice-jin was compared to him, Frieza had defeated him in a matter of seconds. Vegeta lay on the cold metal floor, crushed and bleeding, his limbs twisted at awkward angles in which no limb should, and at seeing this, the sporadic waves of sympathy and affection washed over Frieza and he knelt to help Vegeta to his feet. Vegeta could not stand and Frieza held him. He'd been a teenager, but he was so small he looked as if he was one who still believed that life was fair and caring, still ignorant to the horrors of the world. He was not, but he looked that way, so easily held upright and supported. He did not protest and could only let himself fall against Frieza's chest subduedly. Before Vegeta could stop himself, he uttered quietly:

"Why am I not so powerful?"

The question was unexpected and sudden. The words did not fit in the mouth of his prince, and Frieza stared down at him for awhile. He wondered if Vegeta was just mumbling and needed to be put to bed so he could rest, but although Vegeta was quiet and his eyes averted, he did not allow himself to give into sleep, which, under normal circumstances, he would have already done then and there. He kept his eyes from drooping, jerking them open, painfully and tiredly. He was waiting for an answer.

Frieza took Vegeta's face in his hands and brushed the hair from his forehead and out of his eyes so their gaze met.

"Oh, Vegeta, my dear sweet prince, is it not obvious?" he asked softly, bemusedly.

Vegeta stared at him. "I don't..." he managed.

"You are more powerful than you could ever comprehend, Vegeta. It amazes me how much strength you possess. You have so much potential, but sadly you will never be able to fully unlock it," said he, a somber expression adorning his face.

"Why?" Vegeta asked. This was the ultimate low. Frieza was the only one who had ever believed in him, and now it seemed he was giving up as well. Vegeta fought back tears that he could not place with any certain emotion.

"Oh, Vegeta, my love, do not look at me like that. I cannot stand to see such sadness on such a beautiful face," Frieza said.

"Why?" Vegeta asked again. He was appalled, awestricken, that Frieza seemed to believe this sudden adulation would make up for what he had just admitted. How could he say something like he just had, when, finally, the prince was admitting that he needed help, that he was not strong or infallible? And how could he turn him down and treat him as if he didn't have a brain to calculate the actual truth this knowledge held? Vegeta would not fall victim to his crooning, whether it was real and pure or condescending and mocking. Vegeta would not give in. He wanted an answer.

"Why?" he asked once more, his voice lined with an unmistakable fear that Frieza could not ignore.

"Oh, there it is again," Frieza said, smiling. "Your weakness. Your voice _drips _with it."

Vegeta stared up at him. "What does that..."

"Of course you don't know. You've always been so ungodly able to read into others, but when it comes to yourself you haven't a clue. And even if you did know, nothing you could do could ever fix it. You will always be so weak," Frieza said.

"I just don't..." Vegeta started. Everything was becoming murky, hazy, as if a thick fog had descended over the now seemingly barren landscape of his mind. "I can't..."

"Shhhh, hush now and let me tell you," Frieza said softly, pressing two fingers to his swollen lips, split and gushing blood. Vegeta winced as a bolt of pain shot through him like lightning. With Frieza's fingers pressed into his lips and the agony that came with this simple gesture, he did not dare move his mouth.

"There now," Frieza said and leaned down to whisper in his ear, like a little child confiding a secret of utmost importance to his best friend: "Physically, you are one of the strongest people I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. If truth be told, you should know that you are almost as strong as I was when I was your age, but whereas my strength kept increasing, I fear that yours, my dear prince, will not. You see, unlike myself, you possess something that will always hold you back. You are, in every sense of the word, mentally weak. You doubt yourself -your abilities, your strength, your intelligence. You tell yourself you are good for nothing. Your faith in your own physical strength wavers because there are others stronger than yourself. You tell yourself you are stupid. You dwell, you obsess, on your own wrongdoings and faults, on your past, and you let it eat away at you. I can see it, anyone who pays attention can. These things, emotions, make you weak, Vegeta. They hold you back, suppress your true potential. And by letting yourself feel these emotions, you have done just that. Because of these weaknesses, you will never be so strong."

For the first time in a long time, he began to shed tears in Frieza's presence.

"I am sorry I had to say that," Frieza began softly, wiping at Vegeta's eyes gently, "but you did not deserve to live feeling pressured into becoming as strong as I because you did not know any better. We shall face this knowledge now, my sweet prince; you will never surpass me. You are too old now to play pretend. You will always be my underling."

Vegeta began to feel consciousness slipping away from him quickly. Far too quickly than if he were falling into a doze.

"Frieza..." he managed. "I'm going to—"

Frieza watched as unconsciousness overtook his little prince, his small form slumping limply in his arms. A smile formed on Frieza's soft purple lips and he took the prince up and threw him over his shoulder. Frieza laid him down on his bed and tucked him in before flipping off the lights and leaving. The lock on his door clicked, announcing Frieza's concern that when Vegeta awakened he might try to leave and train again instead of resting. The Ice-jin had a good reason to be concerned—the prince had a good reason to train, harder than ever now.

Vegeta dreamt of weakness; it took the form of a monster, ominous, looming. He ran but could not escape, and it ate him, consumed him. To him, this monster looked like Frieza.

Now, flying through this green sky, soaring through a place that reminded him of Namek, he unquestioningly believed what Frieza had said to him those many years ago. He could feel this weakness draining his power, turning confidence into self-doubt and filling him with an undiluted fear. What if he couldn't beat them? Yes, he was a Super Saiyan, but what did it matter? If he continued to let this weakness consume him, he would have no chance against them, even if they were weak, even if he was what everyone believed to be the strongest warrior in the cosmos. It all depended on self-confidence. If he did not have that, he did not have victory.

Perhaps that part of it was true, but the other wasn't. He _could_ grow more powerful, and he knew it. He would no longer allow for weakness in himself, mental or physical. Perhaps he had been, but now he was not. He would not grant Frieza the satisfaction of seeing that.

He gathered all the confidence he could, attempting to clear his mind. As he flew he focused on the now, the present. He did not dwell, did not allow himself to think of the fear that formed when he woke to see Frieza standing over him, silhouetted in shadow, smiling, did not allow himself to think of the pain that shot through him as he tried to move in bed. He focused on the sounds -the grotesque bubbling of the red liquid in the jagged-edged pond, the rustling of the wind, the sound of voices—

Vegeta halted suddenly and tried to pinpoint where the voices were coming from. They were not far off, he could tell, in fact he believed that if he continued flying straight he would run into them in a matter of minutes. And from the direction in which the voices tolled, he could feel their powers emanating. Yes, it was them all right. He couldn't separate their energy signatures but it was clear that they were all grouped together. This was both wonderful and terrible, mixed together clumsily—it was wonderful in the sense that he would not need to waste his time searching for each of them, terrible in the sense that he would have to face them again, all at once.

There was Zarbon and Dodoria and Cui, who he hated with a passion. They had been intent on making his life a living hell, but they never could, because when it came to things like that, their master, Frieza, was furious. He did not allow for anyone to humiliate or hurt the prince in any way, and if he ever found out something had occurred, that person would become familiar with the true meaning of pain. Dodoria had once hit Vegeta over the head when he'd been five, and the next day the whole palace watched as Frieza beat Dodoria harshly and unsparingly. It was an example, and after this, the other soldiers of the palace, seeing that even one of Frieza's right hand men would pay the price for this act, never laid a hand on the child or taunted him. They, being lower on the food chain, would not live if they dared to do such a thing, as Dodoria had. In this, Vegeta took an odd sort of glee. He could do or say whatever he wanted because he had Frieza to protect him. He could taunt them, could fire blasts at them, until they finally recoiled and when they did he would go running to Frieza to hide behind him. The soldiers had a private joke, especially those that had a certain dislike for Frieza or Vegeta; they often said to one another when a newcomer asked the usual, "Why does he get away with so much?", "Because when he pushes it enough that we finally give in and attempt to do anything, he can go running to his _mommy_ because he knows _she'll _protect him." And they'd laugh, but Vegeta did not care.

There was the Ginyus, who he did not mind as much. He could not stand Guldo, nor could Guldo stand him and because of this had had Frieza's foot connect with his face many a time, but the others were all right. Jeice had been his best friend on that ship, and had warmed the other members of the Ginyu Force up to him after they'd been weary of him at first. He liked Jeice enough that at times he found himself vaguely missing him. Yes, they'd had their fair share of fights, but they were still close. The other members were tolerable, save Guldo. He liked them mostly because they had actually managed to make him laugh, something that could be rarely accomplished. But, on Namek, when it came to the prospect of being taken back to Frieza to once again become his servant, he'd done what he'd had to. They had become his enemy, and, in keeping with what Frieza had said, he would not let his emotions make him weak. If survival meant killing them, then survival it was. For him, it was common knowledge.

Then there were the Ice-jins. Frieza's family, perhaps, out of everyone, the least he wanted to see, despite the fact that they had been the nicest. He had liked Cooler and King Cold, but to a certain extent. Like Frieza, their affection for him was equally sporadic and wavered off and on. They were unpredictable. When in a good mood, King Cold became dull. He liked to ramble on about his past victories, a trait which his son had inherited, which was especially unfortunate for Vegeta because he quickly became the prime subject of them. When Frieza brought Vegeta with him to visit King Cold, Vegeta found he had to make an effort to look like he actually gave a damn about what he was saying. But his other son, Cooler, on the other hand, was the exact opposite. When in a good mood, Cooler was a riot, and Vegeta sprang on any chance he got to visit him. He drank and smoked, and sort of emanated "cool". When Vegeta had been very young, Cooler had become his role model and this angered and saddened Frieza to no end, but Vegeta never understood why he cared.

Vegeta could not tell who was in the gathering of energies and who wasn't; their powers blended fuzzily together like ingredients in a milkshake. If he could not tell, he would just have to go see for himself.

As Vegeta began to fly toward that immense power again, the voices became clearer. The energy signatures, undiluted. He could hear their laughter, echoing throughout the hollows of Hell, a chorus of mixed voices, the pitches uncomplimentary to the others, unblended and disharmonized.

As he approached, he powered down his ki and dropped to the dusty ground with a muted thud. He planned on concealing himself, for now, he was the hunter and they were the hunted. He could not catch his prey if he gave himself away this early a stage in the game. He crept, slowly and carefully, to a crumbling ridge where, below, their unmistakable voices wafted upward from. He lay down on his belly and watched from afar, and there they were.

Around a large, glass crystal ball that rose up from the bubbling red liquid on jagged stone spikes, they stood. Cui, Dodoria, Zarbon, Guldo, Reacoom, Burter, and Jeice, were gathered around each other loosely, conversing, their eyes upturned and staring at the crystal glass of the ball, winking back at them in the bright light of the sun. King Cold and Cooler sat together, closely, on a large gray stone which rested before the crystal ball like a seat at the movie theater.

But there was no Frieza.

It was then that he realized there was an image on that crystal ball, replayed with the fuzzy quality of a T.V. like the one Frieza had given him when he'd been a teenager. On that screen, there was a picture of him.

And they watched, laughing.

* * *

Vegeta's shaded eyes were wide with fear, bulging freakishly from their sockets. His pupils were small and sharp like two onyx marbles lost in a crisp white snow. His eyes had moved from his enemies and locked onto the crystal ball that rose from the blood-red lake. He could not move his gaze from the thick glass that trapped an image of him inside like a battered prisoner. It was captivating.

The first thing that began to register in his mind was not that Frieza was missing, nor that his enemies watched him through this crystal ball and laughed, but rather what was being played on the screen itself. Upon first realizing that it was him they watched, Vegeta studied the screen intently and deliberately moved his hand in a stealthy, soundless manner. He had been wondering if perhaps they were watching him now, as he lay on this ridge above them, if they had been watching as he nodded off or as he ran throughout Hell, had been watching as he transformed into Super Saiyan. But the picture on the screen did not correspond with his movements, and when he realized this he also realized that in this picture he looked younger, but he could not tell when he had looked like this—he had never liked looking into mirrors.

Clawing at the edge of the rocky outcropping, he pulled himself closer toward the edge for a better look. The screen changed. He stifled a sharp gasp as he watched the dark yet psychedelic sky of planet Namek fill the picture, saw the rocky structures jutting up from the blue sea and marking the battlefield where he would challenge Frieza and inevitably die.

Then it came to him, the reality of this. It dawned on him heavily and mercilessly—his enemies were watching him fight Frieza.

He stared for a long moment, and those painful, humiliating memories of Namek fell upon his shoulders like heavy weights. His body was stiff and tense, unmovable. He felt the stinging in his chest, the blows to his back and his face, to his cheeks, cheeks Frieza had once lovingly stroked beneath the moonlight in his darkened bedroom as he took him -and Vegeta could feel this too. He felt himself suddenly wavering in and out of consciousness, felt his tense, shaking body jolt as their laughter increased. He had broken into a cold sweat and was drenched. His head was heavy and he could not hold it; his eyes drooped briefly. His pupils threatened to roll back in his head but it came to him then, that if he allowed himself to sleep here and now, this humiliation would be greater—there was no telling what they might do if they found him lying there unconscious.

The confidence was lost, but he lay there trying to compose himself best he could. He did not know what he would do then, but he would not allow himself to drown his mind in thick black darkness, a brief safe-place, heaven, only to awaken where there was no safety, literally a hell. He tried to control his breathing, deep, in and out, and focused on this solely. He ignored their laughter and the sound of his own voice, encouraging Frieza to transform. Instead of allowing himself to succumb and chastise himself for his own stupidity on that day (and now he was convinced every day that followed) he soothed his mind and allowed it to drift into a state of solitude where he could also be alert to the world around him. He blinked deliberately into the sun overhead, closed his eyes, and watched the brightly colored, distorted shapes drift before his eyes repeatedly and leave thick streaks of neon reside in the blackness. In this, he found comfort. It was like staring into the vast ocean of stars and planets while he traveled the galaxy under Frieza—alone. It was solitude.

But as their laughter heightened, keeping this solitude became increasingly harder. His eyes threatened to open and he clawed at the rocky ledge as if, in this, he could will himself to keep his eyes closed as his enemies cackled. And he began to comprehend something—he could not stay here in hiding forever. And why should he? Hadn't that been the reason for his coming here, to challenge them all? But he hadn't expected this, not in the least.

His mind churned with questions.

During his time on the Ice-jin's ship, Frieza had taken it upon himself to make sure the prince had an education. He personally taught Vegeta lessons from shining new textbooks on mathematics, science, history, and literature in hopes of molding his young mind into that of a genius; Vegeta didn't understand why the warlord cared, but had drawn his own theory, which was that Frieza was only devoting himself to this cause to say he had been able to successfully educate a Saiyan _monkey_, and in itself, this feat would be a testament to his own greatness. And with these teachings came something else—lessons of life. Frieza had been determined that Vegeta, a natural daydreamer, learned the difference between what was real and what was not, what was worth investing time in and what wasn't, so that he, as an adult, could become successful. As amazing as this glass globe was, recapturing the past before his eyes, if he had learned anything from Frieza, it was that this was not possible. To view the past in this way was like something out of the book Frieza had shown him surrounding the idea of black magic, which Frieza said strictly was unattainable and scoffed at the stories of people who'd apparently used it, saying that if they had invested their lives in something constructive rather than depend on the idea that magic could make them successful, they might have been able to make something of themselves. They were dreamers, Frieza explained, and if they had put those minds filled with creativity and wonder to good use rather than foolishness, they may have changed the way every being in every galaxy saw the world. After he said this, he smiled to Vegeta who sat beside him wearing his warm, baggy sweat clothes he changed into when relaxing or doing his lessons, and patted his spiky hair gently. Vegeta jerked his gaze up from his paper and stared into Frieza's eyes. In those two red rubies he saw what he already knew was there yet so desperately tried to convince himself was not—expectation, something that, in him, he did not want Frieza to have. And he saw something else, concealed behind the Ice-jin's composure and his longing to be feared by all—affection.

Now, Vegeta suddenly jerked his eyes open, out of the solitude and into the world fully, and stared at this crystal ball, portraying the past. This could not be possible. He knew it couldn't.

In a situation like this, Frieza had always said to keep calm and evaluate all the possibilities, so that was what Vegeta decided to do. His nails grinding in the soft stone of the cliff on which he laid, he began to evaluate.

Was it possible that this was a recording of the battle, he thought? As implausible as that sounded, how else could it be explained? But, then again, how had it been recorded? This realm _was _run by gods, but to him this recording seemed so sinful, so unholy, even for the place called Hell, a place entirely comprised of sins and ungodliness. Either way, his mind was swimming and he needed a reason for it to slow.

"Well, that's just great," he muttered very quietly under his breath. "Yemma's even videotaping us the whole goddam time. Talk about an all-seeing god, as if life weren't stereotypical enough already." He chuckled nervously and with his wide, frightened eyes, glared down at the screen.

He knew that his explanation for this thing did not fit, and he could not ease his mind of it. He tried to distract himself. He stared intently at them all and began to plan, deciding how he would attack and who would get it first. But he could not focus, not fully, because of this thing eating away at him. He decided that the only way to satisfy its hunger was to find out what the crystal ball was for himself, and to do this he would need to attack and beat the information out of them, an attack for which he could not plan if this thing continued to pick away at him. This conclusion seemed to quiet it enough and Vegeta began thinking over ideas for plans of attack. But still, his mind was not fully with him as he did.

He was not in the least surprised that they would watch this if they had the chance, but was rather disturbed. Was this what they did in their free time, he wondered? Did they sit here and watch him and laugh oh so delightedly, every day when there was nothing better to do? He did not even let himself wonder why this might be if he was correct. But he wouldn't let this go unquestioned. This information could be beaten out of them just as easily, and he intended to. They would pay for watching his humiliation. He decided that first to go would be either Dodoria or Cui, who looked to be enjoying this little show they watched far more than the rest of the group. But Cooler, perhaps, could be shown a _little _mercy. He didn't look so enthused, and Vegeta _did_ feel slightly guilty, though he would not admit this, about the incident on Earth…

Suddenly, he began to process the information he had learned the moment he first peered over the edge of the cliff. There was no Frieza. It struck him like a blow to the stomach, hard and sickening, a blow like the one Frieza had dealt to him after his first insignificant attempt at escape from the battleground on which they fought. And it hit him like this:

_If Frieza isn't here with his father and brother, then he is somewhere else in Hell. But why? Why did he leave, unless he knew… oh, god, he must know I'm dead, if these idiots can watch this they could've seen 17 kill me… god, he knows and he was looking for me. There is no other reason why he would have left. He's been looking for me this whole time, and oh god, I fell asleep, he could have…_

This realization was worse than anything. He had fallen asleep and he knew, without pretending for his own sake, that Frieza had been looking for him, and still was, which was why he wasn't back. He had nodded off, sitting against a tree in an open, public area. And then the thoughts returned, thoughts worse than those of Namek and his humiliation there. This humiliation was nightly, even still, endless. So now he thought again, _What if he did something to me while I was asleep?_

And then, along the pathway, came traipsing Frieza.

"Son!" King Cold called, and everyone looked in his direction and catcalled jokingly to Frieza when they saw that he was alone.

"Oh come on, baby brother!" Cooler said as Frieza came nearer to the group. "You really din't find him?"

Frieza glowered fiercely at him and spat in his direction without answering.

This seemed to arouse the others further and they began an onslaught of smart remarks at his failure.

"Everyone, shut the hell up," Cold ordered, and the taunting finally quieted at the huge Ice-jin's authority.

Cold turned to Frieza. "You really weren't able to find that monkey, son?"

Frieza whipped around, teeth clenched, fury burning in his eyes at his father. "I told you _not to call him that!" _

Echoing throughout Hell, all heard. But the one who heard it the most clearly began to waver in and out of consciousness again as he gripped the edge of the outcropping roughly, enough so that he loosened a large stone boulder. It tumbled down and broke into small, dusty splinters of sharp rock, and its impact sounded.

Everyone turned.

It was then that Vegeta realized what had happened while semi-unconscious. He felt their eyes bore into him and heard Frieza's voice once again, breathless, gasping.

_"Vegeta?" _he said.

* * *

The silence that fell over them was heavy and domineering, like a thick fog that had descended over them. Some of them, especially those with weaker power levels, expressed their surprise with a small sound of astonishment or fear, a stifled gasp. Cui, Dodoria, Zarbon, had all dawned an expression of pure terror. Guldo began to quiver, while the rest of the Ginyu force had widened eyes and tightly clenched jaws, shaking hands. But those with stronger power levels looked upon the Super Saiyan with nothing more than shock and confusion. Cooler looked at him with an expression of morbid curiosity, as if bemused. King Cold stared at him questioningly with hard eyes. But Frieza looked with wide eyes, as if he had heard Vegeta boast of his Super Saiyan powers as he had on Namek for the last time, his mouth slightly agape. And then Vegeta could see it, behind those crimson eyes. There, behind that composure, were elation mixed with sadness, longing. These emotions of affection.

Vegeta had stood up on the cliff when he had sensed his unveiling, almost unconsciously. He was not aware that he now stood. He was only aware of those eyes, those of Frieza, the warlord, everlasting, all-powerful. He, transfixed, could not look away. To Vegeta, they were the only ones. He and Frieza, staring into the eyes of the other. There was no Ginyu Force, no Zarbon or Dodoria or Cui, no King Cold or Cooler. It was he and his former master, together again. He could feel this, and nothing else. He was not aware of the power he wielded, because it had gone as he looked into those eyes. He was not aware of his plans, because they were aborted when he looked into those eyes. He was not aware of his hatred for Frieza, his desire for revenge, because, when he looked into those eyes, it vanished. When he looked into those eyes of Frieza, he was not aware of his vulnerability, because when he did, it did not matter. He was gone, lost in the bright garnet pearls that were Frieza's pupils.

His mouth agape, Vegeta stood and stared. Frieza stared up at him, his eyes glinting as he looked into the sun. The others watched in tense dread and bewilderment as the silence progressed. They all watched Vegeta, who did not move where he stood. He was completely still, and so were his eyes, his face. They were not sure of what to do or say. In the many years they had all known Vegeta, they had never seen him in such a state.

Finally, after a while, the most composed of them, whose eyes Vegeta had become mesmerized in, spoke quietly without faltering his gaze. "Vegeta," Frieza said again. He sounded worried. "Vegeta, are you—"

When Vegeta swayed on his feet and tumbled from the high cliff then, his eyes unchanging, Frieza was the first to react. He gasped deeply, his eyes widening significantly. The cliff was only elevated a few feet but the jagged rocks beneath it would ensure death if a fall was taken. Frieza ran to him without hesitation and flew up, snatching him into his arms before Vegeta could be speared by the rocks and killed.

All the onlookers gasped and began to mutter in astonishment. Frieza jumped back to the ground, holding Vegeta to his chest. When he had gotten the prince to safety, he, too, looked down at him in astonishment and concern. Vegeta stared up at him blankly for a small moment, his mouth still agape and eyes unresponsive. Then, he started lightly and blinked up at Frieza several times.

Then, he came back, into the world of reality.

In the arms of the white Ice-jin, Vegeta let out the most bloodcurdling scream any of them had ever heard in their entire existence. Frieza dropped him in shock and Vegeta darted away from him, still on the ground.

Vegeta was aware of this; he understood how weak he was now, how pathetic. He was aware of Frieza and all the others, staring at him in utter amazement, and he was aware that he lay at the Ice-jin's feet, vulnerable, helpless, at his mercy. But in that moment, he had forgotten his power. The power of the Super Saiyan had left in his psychosis. So he lay there on the ground, screaming in horror and a brew of other emotions, sicknesses.

Frieza dropped to his knees in front of Vegeta and reached out to him. Vegeta scurried further away. He had broken out into a cold sweat, and the veins on his forehead protruded from his skin and throbbed freakishly. His face was deathly pale but his cheeks were flushed, and it looked to those who witnessed the scene that it was beginning to take on a blue color.

"S-stay away from me!" he screeched.

Frieza came closer, still reaching to touch him. "Vegeta—" he began.

Vegeta darted back frantically, still pressed against the dusty ground. "Get back!"

Frieza's forehead was creased with concern, his lips pursed tightly. "There, there, Vegeta, calm down."

Vegeta, still scurrying back, began to kick at him desperately as Frieza continued to come at him. "Get away!" he cried.

"Vegeta, I'm only trying to help."

"You're lying! You're fucking lying!" Vegeta wailed.

He had backed himself against the same cliff he had fallen from, and he pressed first his back to it, then his chest as he thrashed in fear, his hands clawing at the dusty auburn rock.

Frieza came forward slowly, reaching to him, still. "No, no, darling, I'm not lying," he said quickly. "I'm only trying to—"

_"God help me!"_ Vegeta screeched, throwing his head back as his fingers clawed the rock wall, his feet fumbling and striking it as if in an attempt to climb up its steep surface. It was then that Vegeta began to cry.

They all gazed upon this, their eyes bulging with disbelief. Their ears rang with the prince's desperate cries until they watched as Frieza struck the back of Vegeta's head with a small white, pointed hand. The blow was accurate and precise, sharp and painless. Vegeta, unsuspecting, did not feel it. His eyes blurred and his eyelids drooped heavily as unconsciousness overtook him. He fell forward, his head striking the cliff. His muscles loosened and his body slumped over, his mouth, still agape.

No one moved. They all stared, silence consuming them. They watched as Frieza stood and took Vegeta's limp body up, supporting him under his arms. He tenderly laid the unconscious Saiyan over his shoulder and turned, to find all his inmates, as he liked to call them, staring with wide and frightened eyes. He glowered ferociously and said, with a burning intensity, "What do you think you're looking at?"

They gasped sharply and shied away.

"I apologize, my lord," Zarbon said, bowing, but his eyes were still wide and fearful.

Frieza grunted in distaste and turned away. He stared at his father and brother.

"Why don't you try moving your heads slightly to the left next time, maybe?" Frieza sneered.

His father sighed. "He had concealed his power."

"Still, he was just standing there, right out in the open. I mean, you'd need to be the world's greatest detective to figure that out, wouldn't you?"

King Cold glared. "Alright, you little smartass, unless you'd like to try and pull your little scheme off by yourself, I would be quiet, if I were you."

"Fine, we have him, let's go," Frieza mumbled, and flew off into the distance, carrying Vegeta over his shoulder.

His father followed closely behind him. Cooler stood from the rock he'd been sitting on and frowned deeply in the direction they'd hurried off, shaking his head.

"Oh Frieza, you have no idea what you're getting yourself into," he sighed. "Gonna have to get you out like usual, aren't I?"

He sighed again before flying off in the direction his family had gone, while the others stared after them in disbelief.

* * *

When Vegeta woke up, his head was throbbing. His vision was blurred, and as he struggled to pull his eyes open, the image of the figure in front of him was fuzzy and unclear. He still wasn't quite awake, and he seemed to simply gaze at the figure in front of him blankly. His eyelids, so heavy, threatened to close again. And they almost did, when the prince was jolted into consciousness by the raspy but soft and encouraging voice—one that was surely a woman's—saying, "Vegeta? Are you awake?"

When his vision cleared, he stared into the sparkling ruby red eyes of Frieza which held compassion and sympathy and shimmered with happiness. Vegeta's eyes, however, were wide with shock and horror. His mouth, the corners still crusted with sleep and dried drool, hung agape.

Frieza smiled. "Hello, sleepyhead. How are you feeling?"

Vegeta slowly tried to sit up, however his head was so heavy he could not lift it from the soft pillows it rested on. His hands, buried beneath the blankets that covered him, found the edge of the sheets and gripped in fear. He began to shake lightly, as if he were cold, but he'd been bundled up so warmly and the fire that burned in the hearth was so hot that the possibility he could be cold seemed strictly implausible.

Frieza, sitting on the bed beside him and watching over him, gently pushed Vegeta back down on the bed, though he had only managed to raise himself a little ways up.

"Relax, little one," Frieza cooed. "Just stay down and relax."

But Vegeta could not relax. His shaking had begun to increase as he squirmed in Frieza's grip, continuing to struggle to sit up. He was so weak, however, that that was all he managed to do—struggle. Frieza frowned.

"Vegeta, try and lay still. Your head will ache more if you continue to squirm. Just relax. It's all right."

But it wasn't, not to him, at least. He wanted to shriek, to insult the man before him, to make any sound that would come, but he could not find his voice. A million thoughts flashed through his mind in that instant, but the most prominent and protruding was so simple, such a glittering generality: Frieza kidnapped me again. It meant nothing, really, but at the same time it did. And while he didn't know what Frieza planned to do with him or why he was here, this one single thought sounded so awful that he automatically assumed the purpose was awful as well. And instinctively he began to fight, to struggle, not once stopping to think that Frieza's intentions were anything other than malicious.

"My dear, sweet Vegeta, please. Just try to relax," Frieza tried. "I'm not going to—"

In that instant, Vegeta's fist connected with Frieza's jaw. Frieza recoiled with a small cry of pain, falling backwards and away from Vegeta. Though his head was throbbing, Vegeta forced himself to sit up painfully. He struggled out of the cocoon of blankets and stood up from the bed. He was warm and woozy and he swayed on his feet for a moment, almost falling, but quickly steadied himself and struggled to the door on the opposite side of the room. Frieza seemed to recover from the momentary shock and pain then and stood from the bed and began to approach him. Vegeta, leaning against the door for support, gripped the knob tightly.

"Vegeta," Frieza said slowly, and it was apparent that he was trying to control himself, "I'm not going to hurt you again. Now why don't you be a good boy and get back into—"

Vegeta fired a large blue ki blast at him, and it collided with his chest. Frieza fell backward with a screech of pain and gripped his chest. Vegeta turned the door knob quickly, pushed the door open, and stumbled into the hallway outside. He pulled the door shut and locked it when he was out of the bedroom and leaned against it, catching his breath as he glanced around.

Directly in front of him, there was a large, dark staircase that led to what looked like a kitchen below. To his right was a wall which the staircase rested against on one side, and to his left there was a long hallway draped with an ornate red rug that ran its length. There were several doors on each side of the hallway, each shut, and in between them odd portraits and paintings covered the sickly wallpapered walls. Directly above him hung a lamp which threw out golden light and seemed to be the only real source of illumination in the hallway.

Suddenly, he felt a body slam against the door from inside the bedroom with such force that the hinges quivered. Vegeta jumped backwards, frightened and surprised. As Frieza began to pound on the door, his menacing voice sounded from inside, "Vegeta, open this door right now, young man!"

Vegeta stared at the door and listened to the voice, transfixed, as he began to slowly back away from it, forgetting the stairs behind him. And when he felt the floor disappear beneath him, he let out a cry of surprise and tumbled down the long flight of stairs.

From inside the room, Frieza heard the sound of a body tumbling down the stairs and the thud of it as it connected with the hard floor that lay waiting at the bottom. Frieza let out a cry of fear as he remembered the seriousness of the injury Vegata had already received to his poor head. If he were to land on it or even hit it as he descended, he thought that Vegeta's second death was inevitable, and thus their separation as well. He listened as Vegeta's screech of pain resonated and cringed as he tried to force the door open. When he finally managed this, he stepped out and gazed down at Vegeta who lay in a heap at the bottom of the flight of stairs. It looked as if he'd landed on his leg, as he was gripping in and biting his lip, obviously in pain. Frieza sighed in relief and began to slowly descend the stairs toward the poor prince.

When Vegeta looked up and saw Frieza approaching him, he let out a long moan and struggled helplessly to get to his feet.

"No, my little one," Frieza called gently, descending a bit faster. "Don't move. Just be a good boy and sit still and let me help you."

However, Vegeta paid him no mind and miraculously managed to climb to his feet. He glanced around rapidly with the sole purpose of locating an exit. And just as Frieza reached him, he spotted it: a door to his left that looked as if it would lead to a garage of some sort. Frieza reached out a white hand and tried to snatch the strap of his shattered armor, but Vegeta stumbled quickly away and ran for the door, tripping over his own feet but still managing to keep upright.

"No, Vegeta, _no, _come back here _now_!" Frieza yelled after him, panic and rage, the same that had taken him as he pounded on the door, filling his androgynous voice.

Vegeta practically fell onto the door, but he had no time to catch his breath. He gripped the door knob, twisted, threw the door open…

King Cold stared down at Vegeta with wide eyes. Vegeta stared up at him with the same expression, though he began to tremble in fear. Just as Frieza reached him, Vegeta's eyes rolled back into his head and he fell forward.

"Father, _catch him_!" was the last thing the Saiyan heard.

* * *

When Vegeta woke up this time, his head was pounding so violently he felt he would become sick. His whole body ached, but he felt the most pain, shooting pain, in his left leg as well. He could hardly see anything, and his mind was so murky he could not for the life of him remember where he was or what had caused him to be in so much pain. But his ears still worked, a little, at least, and he could hear gently voices that seemed to be floating delicately within his mind.

"I think he's waking up, father," said the soft, feminine voice, which sounded excited and pleased yet a bit worried.

"Yes," agreed another voice, one still very feminine but also indistinctive as a woman's.

Vegeta, just emerging from a dream-filled sleep, stared at the blurred figures before him and slurred incoherently, "Daddy...?"

King Cold and Frieza exchanged amused yet sympathetic glance then turned back to the distraught and nearly unconscious prince.

King Cold smiled and said, "Yes, Vegeta, daddy's here," causing Frieza to frown deeply.

"Father," the small Ice-jin scolded, "don't tease the poor thing."

"But he's calling for "daddy", isn't he?"

"You know very well he isn't calling for me. Now hush up," he commanded before turning his attention Vegeta.

"Vegeta, it's just me, Frieza."

Vegeta stared at him blankly and blinked slowly. "Frieza...?"

"Yes, dear."

Vegeta blinked again, still not quite awake. "Wha...?" he slurred, still sounding extremely confused.

"You had a bit of an accident, little one. Don't you remember?"

Vegeta simply blinked again at him without saying a word.

"What's wrong with him, daddy?" Frieza asked suddenly and frantically, sounding very frightened. "I thought he'd be up in arms by now."

"Well, I'd rather have him incoherent and calm than awake and fighting us for escape. Wouldn't you?" King Cold said simply.

"Yes, but he's in pain."

"He's just sleepy, son. Give it some time. He'll be just fine once his head clears."

"...I suppose you're right, but I'm still very worried about him. What if I gave him a concussion?"

King Cold sighed and stood up from the chair he sat. "Here, son, let me get the boy some ice to put on his head."

"Do we have any painkillers, daddy?" Frieza asked quietly. "His head must be aching, but I think he's broken his leg as well."

"I'll check, son."

"If not, will you get some from Goz and Mez? They've got plenty of medicine in their office."

King Cold sighed again. "I suppose, son."

Frieza smiled gratefully. "Thank you, daddy."

King Cold patted his son's head before slipping out of the bedroom and shutting the door behind him gently.

Frieza looked back down at Vegeta, who seemed to be a bit more awake now. He was staring up at Frieza with wide eyes, perhaps realizing finally the situation his was in. His face was deathly pale, almost as white as the whites of his eyes, aside from the warm flush that had risen on his cheeks from the heat of the bedroom and perhaps embarrassment.

Frieza reached down his cool white hand and began to gently caress Vegeta's flushed cheeks, attempting to placate him. However, this only seemed to frighten him more; he began to tremble again, but otherwise his body was completely rigid. Frieza sighed gently and continued to caress Vegeta's cheeks, his touch very soft as he did so.

"Vegeta, he murmured quietly, his tone holding a softness that Vegeta had never heard before, "I'm not going to hurt you."

It was the softness in his voice, the vulnerableness, that encouraged him, gave him the strength, to speak. "W-why am I h-here?" Vegeta whispered shakily, gripping weakly the sheets and blankets that covered him.

"Because, Vegeta, I want you to stay with me now that you're...well, there's no pretty way to say this, but now that you're dead," Frieza said.

Vegeta shook his head easily the instant after the words had slipped from Frieza's lush purple lips. "I-I would n-never s-stay w-with you!" he hissed quietly, attempting to make his voice sound low and threatening, but because he'd slept so long his voice was hoarse and high-pitched—almost like Frieza's—and he was so frightened he was unsuccessful.

"Why not? You don't have anywhere else to go, do you?"

"I d-don't c-care! I w-will n-never s-stay with y-you! N-now l-let me g-go before I h-hurt y-you!"

"Come now, my little one. Can't you at least consider it before deciding so hastily?"

"N-no, I c-can't! Let m-me g-go!"

"Vegeta, where will you go?"

"I don't c-care where the f-f-fuck I g-go as l-long as it isn't h-here."

"Vegeta, I don't know anyone else who'd be willing to let you stay with them."

"Why the h-hell d-d-don't I h-have a h-home of my own t-then?"

"Oh, Vegeta, darling, King Yemma wouldn't give a whole house to one person. If he did that, think of how many houses there would need to be. Of course, he doesn't have nearly that many, so he assigns several different souls to one house when they arrive. Since we're related, father and Cooler and I were able to stay in the same home together. When you died, King Yemma planned to put you in a home with four other souls whom you had no connection to-and they did not, might I add, have their bodies-and I knew they wouldn't provide you with proper care. So I asked King Yemma if he'd allow you to stay with us, and here you are. And you'll complete our little family so nicely." He smiled gently at Vegeta.

Vegeta's face twisted in disgust at Frieza's words. "I w-will n-never be a p-part of your f-family, F-Frieza, and I'll n-never s-stay here with y-you! Now l-let m-me g-go!"

"I'm sorry, my sweet little prince, but I can't do that. Not while you're in this condition, at least."

"Why n-not?" Vegeta cried.

"You're going to hurt yourself again, my dear. Look at what happened when you got out of your bed the first time." He motioned to Vegeta's left leg which he'd bandaged then elevated on a plump pillow. "You broke your leg. And I am not going to let you out of this bed again until you're completely healed and rested."

"That isn't f-fair! You w-were c-chasing me! What d-did you t-think was g-going to h-happen?"

"What did you think was going to happen when you got out of bed in the first place in the condition you were in, Vegeta?"

Vegeta, unsure what to say, simply glared at him and said nothing.

Frieza sighed deeply as he said, "Vegeta, I didn't mean to chase you. I just wanted to put you back to bed so you wouldn't hurt yourself."

"Why do you t-think I w-would t-trust you after everything y-you've d-done to me? Why do y-you t-think I would even consider s-s-staying here?" Vegeta hissed between clenched teeth. "You enslaved m-me, you d-destroyed my p-planet and everyone on it, you k-killed my f-father, you k-killed me t-twenty-five y-years later, and y-you k-kidnap me again? How c-can y-you even ask m-me to t-trust you?"

Frieza sighed again deeply, his eyes slouching in sadness. "Vegeta, when I asked King Yemma to allow me to take you in, it was because...well, I just wanted to start over. I just want to make it all up to you. I want to take care of you, the way I should have all those years ago. You know I've always cared for you very much, but...oh, you know, I didn't do the best job of communicating that to you, now did I? I just want you to give me a chance to do just that, Vegeta. I want to show you how much I do care and all I ask is that you let me."

Instead of being flattered or placated by the Ice-jin's words, Vegeta became offended and disgusted, and this showed clearly on his not-so-poker-face—after all, anyone who'd been through all Vegeta had because of this man would have trouble believing he had suddenly decided to reform. And this should not have been a surprise to the Ice-jin, but still, Frieza sighed slowly, almost as if he were frustrated, and continued to stroke Vegeta's cheeks, where the flush had disappeared due to the sheer coldness of his hands.

"Vegeta, please," Frieza tried, almost pleading, "I know you are still very hurt by my actions in the past, and you have every right to be…but all these years in this place have shown me what a fool I was and made me want to make it up to you more than ever before. Please—if anything, let me take care of you until you're healed and rested. Let me show you that I wasn't lying. And after that, if you still don't believe me, you may leave."

Vegeta glared up at him for a moment, then his eyes softened and his scowl loosened. He did not believe a word Frieza had said, of course he didn't, but when it came to staying with him, did he really have a choice? Not only did it sound as if Frieza was hell-bent (no pun intended) on keeping him there until he was healed, but he was so injured that trying to escape again was impossible. His head was pounding relentlessly, his whole body groaned when he moved even slightly, his leg was completely immobile, and on top of everything, he exhausted, hungry, and emotionally weary. Even if he did find some way get up and fend off all three Ice-jins, how did he expect himself to survive like this? If he were to leave and Zarbon or Dodoria or Cui or the Ginyus' found him in this condition, he'd be dead before he had a chance to regret his decision. At least, here, with Frieza, he wasn't being attacked. In fact, it seemed that Frieza planned to pamper him if he were to take care of him. Vegeta could already tell that he'd live very comfortably here for the time being-the quality of this room alone was indication of that. And it wasn't very hard for him to make up his mind. Even if he had to deal with Frieza, he would stay here only until his leg healed and his body stopped aching and he was nourished and rested. The minute he was, he would pack up and leave, and it was as simple as that.

"F-fine, I'll s-stay until I'm h-healed, but t-that's it," he mumbled quietly. "B-but if you t-try anything, I s-swear..."

He was cut off when Frieza pulled him into a bone-crushing hug. "Oh, thank you, my dear. I promise you won't regret this!" he said, his voice filled with pure elation, as he tightened his grip on poor Vegeta.

Vegeta grunted in pain as he did, as this not only caused his sore body to groan loadly, but it disturbed the position of his broken leg and shook his throbbing head. Frieza, realizing this, gasped and let go of him.

"Oh, my goodness, Vegeta, I'm so sorry. Oh, you poor thing, are you all right?"

"What the h-h-hell d-do you t-think?" Vegeta cried.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, here, let me just fix your poor leg."

Frieza stood from the bed and went to reposition Vegeta's left leg. He gingerly adjusted so it rested squarely on the plump pillow once again and then fixed Vegeta's blankets so they were once again tucked around him snugly.

"There now, little one, is that better?"

Vegeta sighed and nodded, and Frieza smiled.

"Well now, how does your head feel, Vegeta?"

"It's t-throbbing, which is n-no s-surprise, considering the w-way you s-smacked me."

Frieza frowned gently and again touched his cheek. "I didn't want to hurt you, my little one. But you were making a scene of yourself. I just wanted to save you from the embarrassment. But I promise you, I will never hurt you again. I swear."

"F-fine. N-now w-would you please s-stop t-touching me? Your h-hands are f-freezing!"

"Oh, I can go warm them up if you'd like," he said, giving Vegeta an amused look.

"N-no, t-that's all r-right, you c-can just s-stop t-touching m-me all t-together."

Frieza smiled and took his hand away. "All right, whatever you say, my dear."

The door then opened and King Cold walked in, along with his son, Cooler, carrying a ceramic mug, a bag of ice, and a bottle of pills.

Frieza frowned at his brother. "What are you doing here, Cooler?"

"Oh, I just wanted to see how your pet was holding up," he responded, causing Frieza's mouth to fall open and his eyes to widen in disbelief and fury. However, before his foot was able to connect with Cooler's privates, King Cold took it upon himself to hit Cooler on the back of the head with such force that he tumbled to the ground.

"Cooler!" he yelled, his voice booming, causing Vegeta to wince and grip his head. "I told you not to start trouble!"

Cooler moaned and slowly stood up, also holding his head. He glared at Frieza briefly before King Cold hit him again. "Apologize to your brother and Vegeta, Cooler!"

"F-fine, sorry!" he yelped, clutching his throbbing head.

Frieza smiled in satisfaction until he realized that Vegeta was also gripping his head. He gave a small gasp and went to tend to the prince, taking his face in his hands and holding his head gingerly. "Father, did you get those painkillers?"

King Cold nodded. "Yes, son. I have some ice as well. And I thought he'd like a little warm milk to help him relax."

Frieza smiled gratefully at his father. He purred, "Thank you, daddy, you're wonderful."

"Kiss ass," Cooler mumbled under his breath, only to receive another violent blow to the head.

Frieza took the bottle of painkillers and the milk from him. He unscrewed the bottle and retrieved three small clear pills. He then took Vegeta into his arms and helped him to sit up.

"Open your mouth, little one," he commanded gently, and when Vegeta's mouth was open, he set the pills on his tongue and held the mug of milk up to his lips. "Drink, Vegeta."

Vegeta swallowed the pills with a small gulp of warm milk and pulled his lips away from the mug when he was finished. Frieza looked dissatisfied and frowned slightly.

"Vegeta, drink a little more," he said, pushing the mug toward him. "It will help you sleep."

Vegeta knew that he could not win-Frieza would force him to drink the milk if he refused-and he was too exhausted to even try. He drank the rest of the warm milk slowly, and when the mug was empty he pulled away.

Smiling, Frieza purred, "That's a good boy."

He laid Vegeta back down and took the ice from his father and placed it on Vegeta's head. He retrieved several more blankets, covered Vegeta with them, and then sat back down on the bed.

"Father, will you take Cooler and leave?"

"Of course, son," King Cold said and smiled before glaring at Cooler and motioning for him to follow as he left the room. When they'd gone, Frieza looked down at Vegeta who was now almost completely unconscious again.

"Just relax, Vegeta. Close your eyes and rest," he said as he placed three fingers from both hands on Vegeta's temples and began to gently massage. He did this until Vegeta drifted back off to a deep, sound sleep.

* * *

Vegeta woke up late that night, and the bright red letters of the alarm clock on the bedside table announced that it was just after midnight. The room was flooded with the blackness of the night, and the only source of light in the bedroom was the eerie glow of the dying embers that rested in the hearth. Vegeta glanced sleepily about the room, not yet quite awake, once again trying to determine his exact whereabouts upon regaining consciousness.

At first, he was convinced he had woken in his bed at Capsule Corporation to the incessant wails of his newborn son, Trunks, in the late hours of the night, which was not unusual; even if it was usually Bulma who got out of bed and tended to the baby, Vegeta was still unable to rest during this time-Trunks shrieked so loudly that staying asleep was an impossibility, let alone getting back to sleep. But soon enough, it became obvious to the groggy prince that he was not at Capsule Corporation, for the house was completely silent, besides the whisper of wind that caused the leafs of a tree outside his window to scrape against the glass lightly and without cease and the dying crackle of the toasty fire. When his vision cleared, it also became apparent that the room was in no way similar to his at Capsule Corp. While Capsule Corporation had a sort of futuristic quality to it, this place seemed more old fashioned; there was a fireplace, which was primitive in itself, and all of the furniture was wooden and upholstered with ugly and faded flowered fabric. He looked down and saw his blankets had a similar pattern as the furniture, and so did the walls, he saw as he looked up again. The room was like no place he had ever been in before, and he was still too dizzy to remember exactly why he was there.

He looked at the door on the opposite side of the room and decided that the best option was to get up out of bed and go looking around to see exactly where he was. His body was numb, and he did not remember the accident that had caused him to break his leg nor feel the pain it had caused him, and he tried to pull himself out of bed. His body groaned in protest, and his leg refused to move. His whole body was very numb, but his leg felt like a limp, fleshy growth that only managed to weigh him down. Vegeta moaned as his sore body creaked, and because there was now an awful sense of dread instilled in him, one that caused his heart to race and a large lump to form in his throat, one that complicated his breathing. And when he looked around again for another clue as to where he may be, more closely this time, his fear was certainly not overturned.

There were picture frames placed on the bureau in the right hand corner of the room across from him, but when he saw them initially, his vision was too blurred to make out the pictures inside them. Now, he could see them perfectly clearly. There were four pictures on the bureau, along with a small vase of dead flowers and a burnt stub of a candle sitting in a dish. One of the pictures, the largest of them, was a picture of him on his eighteenth birthday, wearing the special suit Frieza had had made for him as a birthday gift. He was frowning seriously, almost glaring into the camera that had taken the black-and-white photo. The next picture, also black-and-white, as they all were, was placed in a tiny square picture frame. It was a picture of him when he'd been very young, maybe five or six. He was smirking, but the smirk did not come off as malicious or with ill intent. The smirk looked so natural on his face, as if it was not intentional but simply habitual, unconscious. Another picture, medium sized and taken with such unprofessionalism that it came off blurry unlike the previous portraits, depicted a teenaged Vegeta sitting alone beneath a tree in a forest. It looked like the picture had been taken from a distance, and Vegeta's face was almost unreadable, but it was clear that he was looking away and was unaware that he was being photographed. In the photo, he was looking down intently at a book, reading. The last black-and-white photograph, one that was especially eerie, sat in a dusty wooden picture frame. In the picture, he looked as if he had just turned about twelve or thirteen. He stood like a soldier, erect with his hands clasped behind his back. His face was frightened, mouse-like. The mouth hung slightly agape, the eyes wide. His head was not turned, but his eyes were fixed on the face of the figure next to him, and because the figure was so much taller than him, he had to look up and behind him. Frieza stood slightly behind Vegeta. His hand rested on Vegeta's right shoulder, squeezing. Frieza was looking into the camera with a hungry look in his eyes—his lips were twisted in a grin. At the bottom of the picture frame, written delicately, as if by a woman but legible enough that Vegeta was able to read it from the bed, were the words, "_My boy and I._"

"This is..." Vegeta whispered in horror, and opened his mouth to shriek. And he almost did, when he remembered-he was supposed to be here.

_Frieza's house. _

While it might be where he was meant to be, or, rather, where he _agreed _to be, (because he was most certainly _not_ meant to reside with Frieza), this realization did not exactly placate the fear that had risen inside him. And this realization had caused other questions to arise, ones that, no matter how he groped, were simply unanswerable-at least, in his current state, one that was so completely out of touch with reality.

_How the hell could I have agreed to stay here? _he thought helplessly, tears threatening to leave his eyes, and he did not realize they were of pain because he still had not recalled the exact reason he had not gotten up and left that first time his eyes had opened to Frieza's grotesque face looming over his own.

The pain in his leg was mostly dormant, although it of course woke enough to protest when he tried to move it even slightly. He knew his body was broken, however he was lacking the knowledge of _why _exactly that was. He did not really remember tumbling down the stairs, nor attempting to hobble to the door as Frieza chased after him (without much success, of course), but he did remember allowing Frieza the knowledge that he would stay here, at least for a little while, until something happened.

He was not stupid; he already assumed he had opted to stay where he was because of his body, because of the soreness and achiness that racked his person, because of the dull throbbing in his left leg. _But_ why _did he feel this way?_

Another question followed suit: _Did Frieza do this? Did his father, or did Cooler?_

Then: _Was it an accident? Did I do it to myself?_

And then, most importantly: _Why the _hell _can't I remember?_

Vegeta could almost instantly rule out the idea that Frieza or one of his family members had done this to him, because when he really considered it, it didn't make a single ounce of sense. If one of them _had_ done it, why would they have offered him to stay in their home until he healed? And even if they had beaten him and then offered this, why would he have _agreed_?

_I must have done it to myself, but HOW? _he pondered fruitlessly, unable to uncover the memory. _Why can't I REMEMBER? _

Why couldn't he remember? Might it have been due to the injury itself? Perhaps he had sustained some type of injury to his head? Maybe he had a concussion? Maybe amnesia? Whatever it was, he still was able to vaguely remember bits and pieces of what might have been the aftermath of his accident.

He remembered pills. Three small, clear pills. Pills slid into his mouth and washed down with warm, but not overly hot, whole milk. And these pills made him feel very numb and had more or less dragged him into a deep, sound unconsciousness.

He decided almost immediately that this memory loss (which he prayed, despite being strictly atheistic, was only temporary) could be blamed solely on those fucking pills Frieza had forced into his mouth just before he'd fallen asleep. Or maybe it shouldn't be blamed on the pills themselves-perhaps it would be more appropriate to blame the pill's side effects. They _had _put him to sleep, so wasn't it likely that he was simply too groggy still to remember all of what had happened?

He decided that that had to be it, but found himself still amazed that Frieza would even dare give him a pill that powerful, let alone _three_, even if they were numbing the pain that racked his body. He decided that even if these drugs did really help, he wouldn't be taking any more anytime soon if it meant he was incapable of remembering the simplest things, let alone crucial things such as the memory of how he'd broken his body.

He thought that if he simply relaxed and allowed the pill to wear off, his memory would soon return-and so would the pain, but his memory would return. He vaguely recalled having those little clear pills stuffed in his mouth when the clock on the bedside table which he was now staring at intensely read about nine o'clock at night. If it was twelve-thirty now, then the pills should be wearing off soon-at least he hoped. He just had to lay back, relax, and wait.

His body and mind were so numb and placated that this-relaxing-was not difficult to do in the least; in fact, Prince Vegeta drifted back off to sleep around twelve-fourty. At one in the morning, the door of his bedroom opened silently and in walked Frieza. His eyes were rimmed with dark black circles, and were bloodshot, as if he had gotten no sleep. And he hadn't.

He smiled tiredly at the sleeping prince, and though the smile was lazy it possessed undertones of an odd matriarchal love, and somehow, at the same time, an almost undetectable maliciousness.

Frieza went to him, clasped Vegeta's pointy chin with two fingers, and tugged downward gently so his mouth was slightly agape. Frieza wore a deep purple robe, and from one of the gaping pockets he removed three small, clear pills. He carefully pushed them into Vegeta's mouth, and when he was finished he used one finger to push Vegeta's jaw back into place to allow the pills to dissolve.

Regarding Vegeta with one last odd smile, Frieza turned and left the room and went back to bed. In his bedroom, he set an alarm to wake him in another three hours so he could give Vegeta a third dose of medicine.

* * *

"Wakey wakey, my sweet little Vegeta."

Vegeta groaned and opened his eyes to the perky, effeminate voice that called distantly to him. As seemed to be the standard when regaining consciousness in this slow manner, his vision was blurred and a thick, hazy fog had fallen over the landscape of his mind. His body was still comfortably numb, save his leg, which now ached dully, but his forehead was almost _too_ numb. Vegeta thought distantly that he had been badly drugged with some sedative or sleeping agent that had been distributed evenly throughout except for his head, which seemed to have snuck a little extra, or a lot, of the medicine and kept it for itself, like a child dividing half a pack of cookies among his siblings and stealing away to his closet to consume the other half later that night; his head felt so infinitely heavy and yet weightless at the same time that it caused his temples to ache and his head to throb relentlessly.

_I've felt like this before, _he thought distantly. _I _know _this feeling._

And he did. He'd woken countless times in the past feeling similarly, the sensation usually not plaguing his body but certainly his head. In fact, he'd woken like this every morning from the time he was about five years old to when he had first left for earth so many years ago. The sensation was familiar, and he almost welcomed it—for it reminded him of what he favored the most, aside from becoming the strongest in the universe and achieving the power of the Super Saiyan. He associated this feeling with food. Lots and lots of food. All his.

As he drifted unwillingly and unknowingly back into sleep, the voice called to him from somewhere in the sands of time, the picture, like a photograph from an old camera, began to develop. A dream came.

_That's it, little Vegeta, that's it. Eat._

_He was sitting at the table in the grand dining room where Frieza, and now he, it seemed, ate all their meals. Vegeta sat in a booster seat which rested on a soft, throne like chair carved from some exquisite wood whose type he did not know which. There was a white napkin laid across his lap. A baby blue bib with a large, light yellow colored duck sewn into it was tied loosely around his neck. His short, pudgy fingers gripped plastic silver wear with which he slowly spooned food into his mouth, and chewed, making his chubby cheeks inflate rhythmically as his jaws worked._

_Frieza sat across the table from him, his hands folded in front of him, his head slightly bowed, as he watched the small, five-year-old prince as he timidly ate. There was a soft, appeased smile adorning his face. His eyes shimmered with that expression of strong maternal love yet somehow an odd sense maliciousness that Vegeta would come to know so well in the years that followed._

_Vegeta looked timidly at his food, the huge spread laid out before him. Meats and potatoes and vegetables and breads and cheeses and fruits and dips and spreads and cookies and cakes and pies and anything else you could imagine eating. _All his, _yet he was unsure he wanted to eat it. It did not smell funny, it did not taste funny, but he certainly _felt _funny about it._

_His small hand set the fork down he had clasped clumsily._

_Come now, baby, your food isn't going to hurt you._

But it did hurt me, _Vegeta now thought as he drifted further back into unconsciousness._ That food _did _hurt me.

_Frieza managed to convince the young boy to continue eating—he'd stood, walked to where Vegeta sat strapped into the booster seat, and picked up the fork himself and told Vegeta they were going to play "here comes the train" if he did not want to feed himself. Vegeta took his fork back and resumed eating the spread of food laid out before him._

_Not half way through the meal, Vegeta suddenly stopped eating and his eyes rolled back into his head. His body plummeted forward and his head struck the plate of food before him, sending a spray of sauces and gravies upward and causing vegetables and fruits to tumble off the plate and roll onto the floor haphazardly._

Vegeta knew Frieza had smiled. He had not been conscious then, of course, but he _knew _Frieza had smiled. He could see it now.

"Vegeta, come now, you must open your eyes," Frieza called to him, and Vegeta was not sure if it was dream Frieza or the real Frieza that called.

Soon, however, Frieza began to shake him and Vegeta was slowly pulled out of the dining room, off that dead planet, and back into the warm bed he now laid in as the afternoon sun shone down on him cheerfully.

Vegeta blinked up at Frieza, disorientated. "Wha…?" was all he was able to croak out.

Frieza smiled gently in return. "Hello, sleepyhead," he purred lovingly. "I was about to give up on waking you. But I see those beautiful eyes of yours and I know you're with me. Have I ever told you that, Vegeta? That you have the most beautiful eyes?"

Vegeta simply blinked at him again, this time his mouth hanging slightly agape, and said nothing.

"You look upset, Vegeta, love," Frieza said, studying him with a look of amusement and slight confusion crossing his face. "What's wrong?"

"…Why…why did you wake me?"

"I wanted to make sure you were all right. You were asleep so long, I began to become worried. It's almost noon, you know."

"It is?" Vegeta asked in astonishment, frankly dumbfounded.

Frieza laughed lightly at his reaction. "Yes, darling, it is. And so I thought it would be fitting I should wake you up and get you fed."

When a look of disbelief, shock, and mild annoyance crossed Vegeta's face, this time it was Frieza who became dumbfounded.

Vegeta stared at Frieza with cold eyes, his glare expressing mild annoyance and controlled anger. Behind his uncaring eyes the small Ice-jin could detect only the slightest tinge of fear, but Vegeta's amazing composure easily and stealthily masked it, almost completely.

Vegeta crossed his large, muscular arms over his chest and glared at Frieza, his expression unchanging. Frieza frowned in confusion and brief hurt sadness at Vegeta's coldness toward him.

"Vegeta, darling, what's the matter?" Frieza asked softly, and placed a gentle white hand on Vegeta's knee. Vegeta instantly pulled away and Frieza's hand fell onto the sheets of the bed with a soft _flump_.

"I'm not hungry, Frieza," Vegeta said slowly, calculating, his voice low and threatening, almost a growl.

"You're not?" Frieza said, frankly stunned, knowing his little Saiyan loved to eat, and also understanding that he had not eaten in a great while. "Vegeta, I know you haven't eaten since long before the androids arrived because you were too busy training, you poor dear."

Vegeta's hard gaze faltered then, and the fear showed clearly in his eyes; strong fear which was conscious but unable to be controlled. Frieza saw that this fear was much stronger than the other emotions had been—he thought that perhaps the anger and annoyance Vegeta had previously expressed had only been an elaborate mask he'd put on to hide this emotion now, like a woman wearing a hat or scarf to cover an unsightly blemish.

Vegeta stared at him, that fear widening his eyes and causing his mouth to fall open slightly as he stuttered quietly and uncertainly, "_You _know _about the androids?_"

Frieza smiled at him immediately, softly and sympathetically. "Of course I do, my poor darling. Do you remember seeing that glass globe where everyone was gathered before you fainted?"

Vegeta slowly nodded without saying anything.

"Well, little one, that globe allows the occupants of this _awful_ place to view the worlds of the living. While I waited for you, I watched you so much. Almost everyday. I saw _everything_."

Frieza smiled at Vegeta. It was a smile he had seen before and did not care for. It was one comprised of that _knowing_, that understanding, that strong, unfaltering condescension. Frieza's eyes seemed to mock him, seemed to hiss, _I saw you, you stupid little monkey, I saw you fail, you thought that no one could defeat a Super Saiyan, you thought you were unbeatable, you thought you could win easily and save everyone, but look what happened, you're dead, my dear, and that means you're a failure, that means you're a disgrace of a warrior, a disgrace of a Saiyan, your father would be ashamed, and so am I, and so should you be._

And though Frieza had said nothing else, Vegeta had _heard_ it, and he pulled back, frankly hurt, though he did not understand why he should care what Frieza thought.

Frieza looked startled when he observed Vegeta's new expression of disbelief, sadness, and an odd sort of disappointment that was not directed at Frieza but rather at himself. Frieza was frankly astonished that Vegeta was capable of expressing such emotion so openly—but then, he understood that Vegeta was disoriented from the medicine he'd been giving him, and he must be exhausted and famished and in intense pain from his injured leg.

"Vegeta, darling, what's wrong?" he cried again, and reached out to Vegeta, who pulled away immediately.

"You think it's funny, don't you? You think it's _funny_ that I finally became a Super Saiyan and the first time I tried to fight I was killed with one easy blow, don't you? You think it's really funny, don't you? How I failed?"

Vegeta looked at Frieza then with eyes that resembled those of a beaten stray puppy's, eyes large and wet and frightened.

Frieza's face seemed to melt. His eyes became soft and sympathetic and almost teary as they drooped in sadness, sadness for the poor boy in front of him. His tongue clicked as he opened his mouth and made a small noise of compassion and understanding, a small _ohhhhh_.

He reached out and took the man into his arms with little hesitation and little resistance from Vegeta, who only gave a soft grunt as his leg was disturbed where it rested on its tower of pillows.

"Oh, Vegeta, my poor, _poor_ sweet little prince, of _course_ I don't think it's funny. When you became a Super Saiyan, I was so happy for you. I was so _proud _of you. When you died, I'll admit, I was overjoyed…but only because I was going to finally get my little boy back. But seeing you in such agony like this just breaks my heart," Frieza murmured compassionately, holding Vegeta closely and tightly to him, his fingers gently caressing the small stub of tail that was just beginning to grow in on Vegeta.

Vegeta could not help but moan, and Frieza could not help but smile.

"It's been a long, painful while since someone has stroked your tail, hasn't it, my little one?"

Vegeta simply nodded, subdued, in response.

Frieza's smile grew wider as he purred, "Well, I'm never going to let this tail out of my hands now that I've snatched it again. It's so wonderful its growing back in. It seems to be just in the nick of time."

His fingers tugged gently and sensually caressed the small stump, causing Vegeta to continuously moan helplessly as he lay in Frieza's grip, completely placated, as Frieza had expected to be the case…but he did not expect Vegeta to suddenly begin wetting himself.

Vegeta looked down, almost sleepily, when he began to feel the wet, warm sensation flood his tight underwear and seep through onto the fleece pajamas Frieza had changed him into after his escape attempt. When he saw the crotch of his pajamas darken as a circle of moisture spread, he gave a small yelp and instantly grabbed his crotch, trying to control it, trying to stop. However, he could not, and he wet until there was a huge, dark circle on the crotch of his pajamas that was almost twelve inches in diameter, if you were to measure.

Frieza was observing this, a small smile crossing his face, without saying a word. He had not moved even when he'd noticed Vegeta beginning to wet, and he had not bothered to let go of Vegeta's tail. In fact, he continued to caress and tug as Vegeta pissed uncontrollably, silent and smiling. He regarded the twelve-inch circle for a few moments before turning his gaze back to the subdued prince's face and reaching out to touch Vegeta's now dripping hand which rested on top of the crotch of his pajamas.

Frieza knew immediately Vegeta would cry.

A warm, hot flush had risen on his fair cheeks. A stew of emotions had widened his onyx eyes—shock, disbelief, and again the slightest tinge of fear, but more than anything, clear, undiluted shame and humiliation. Then those eyes glazed over with tears. His mouth hung slightly agape as he stared down at his crotch and his bottom lip quivered helplessly. Frieza observed for only a small moment as hot tears rolled down Vegeta's cheeks and fell from his face and joined the wet circle and splashed on Frieza's hand.

"Oh, Vegeta don't cry," Frieza said softly, sympathetically, the smile gone from his face. "Vegeta, my poor _poor _boy, don't cry."

But Vegeta _did _cry. He _wept_, and he showed no signs of stopping. Frieza held him closer, so close he could feel Vegeta's heart skipping like a rabbit beneath his chest. He was tempted to stroke his tail again—it was his favorite place to touch on Vegeta when he needed to be comforted—but he was dimly aware that his constant tugging and caressing may have _loosened _him up down there and caused him to lose control of his bladder momentarily and wet, and he instead placed his fingers on the back of Vegeta's neck and began to stroke gently and soothingly with his thumb. Vegeta squirmed weakly in his grip, not because he didn't want or need to be comforted, but because he wanted more than anything at this moment to disappear.

"Shhhhh," Frieza hushed him, attempting to placate him. "Vegeta, it's all right, everything is fine. _Shhhhhh_."

He continued to try to soothe the weeping Saiyan with little success, but soon Vegeta began relax again, and whether it was because he had finally exceeding in relaxing him or simply because Vegeta had no more tears to cry, he did not care. He was purely thankful that Vegeta had finally _stopped_, because King Yemma knew how much it pained him when Vegeta cried.

The small prince sniffled as his tears wound down, and his head hung as he stared silently at the wet spot on the front of his pajamas.

Frieza gingerly took Vegeta and laid him back on the bed, where there was also a small puddle of urine. Frieza took his hand and wiped away the tears that remained welled in his eyes and leaned down and gave Vegeta a small, comforting kiss on the cheek, causing the prince's face to redden significantly, his embarrassment increasing. Then, Frieza stood up from the bed.

"Vegeta, darling, I want you to wait here. I'll be right back."

Vegeta said nothing, and he did not look at Frieza as he went to the door, opened it, stepped out, and closed it behind him.

A few minutes later, he came back in with a laundry basket full of items. A stack of new sheets and blankets, a new pair of fleece pajamas. There were a few large plastic-wrapped packages resting on the top of the sheets, along with several chunky plastic bottles. At first, the Saiyan was unable to tell what the packages and bottles were, but upon closer inspection, he saw that one of the packages held disposable diapers and another held rubber pants. The bottles, he saw, contained baby powder and baby lotion. There was a small carton sitting on top of everything, which he saw contained rectal suppositories.

Immediately, without pause, the Saiyan shook his head, knowing what was to come, and said sternly, but somehow powerlessly, "No."

Frieza frowned. "And why not, Vegeta?"

"I don't need them."

"But you do, Vegeta. You had an accident, and we don't want that to happen again, now do we?"

"No, we don't, but the reason I wet myself was because you were pulling on my tail. It's not going to happen again," Vegeta said with that same sternness, but even so he realized he did not have much authority because of his own humiliation and shame.

"Vegeta, I had planned to put you in diapers when you had the accident. With your leg in the condition it is, you're not going to be able to get up to go to the bathroom. Even if I caused you to wet yourself, you still need these. I can't be here all day, even if I would like to be. If I was gone and you had to go to the bathroom, what would happen?"

Vegeta stared at him for a long moment, powerless, knowing that he had no choice. He wanted to fight, but he thought he didn't have the _right _to. After that little accident, it felt as though anything else he did was only going to add further humiliation and shame to his résumé. He felt now just as he had felt when King Yemma had told him he would be going to Hell, not Heaven, and though he had wanted to fight he was frightened he would be beaten again, be shamed, put in his place. It seemed that it was safer to simply go along with what they had to say, because then they did not have to _exploit_ you. Even if it was humiliating to be put into diapers, Vegeta realized that it would be so much worse if he were _forced _into diapers. So, gently, quietly, he said, "You're right, Frieza. It would be better if I wore them."

Frieza's frown disappeared and was replaced with a beaming smile. "That's my good boy."

Vegeta blushed considering the circumstances, and Frieza chuckled softly and ruffled his wild hair.

"Don't worry, Vegeta," Frieza said, "I think you'll like them. They're nice and thick and soft, and they're very warm, which I think you can appreciate considering the chilly weather we've been getting. Isn't that funny? That it's _chilly _in _Hell_?" He laughed briefly. "I'll bet those people who say that saying, 'It'll be a cold day in hell when—', will feel silly when they die and finally see just how cold it is."

Vegeta, who couldn't care less how the people who said that phrase would feel when they died, only mumbled in agreement, "Mnmn."

Frieza began to unbutton Vegeta's wet fleece pajamas. Vegeta immediately slapped his hands. Frieza recoiled, stunned and hurt.

"Vegeta, why did you do that? I'm trying to take off your pajamas so I can diaper you."

"I'll do it myself."

"Oh, no you won't. If you tried to diaper yourself, it would leak horribly and we'd have a huge mess to clean up."

"I know how to change a diaper, Frieza. I have a son, you know," Vegeta said, and when he did that painful realization came once again, that he'd never train with Trunks and help him ascend, and he struggled to keep the pain and sorrow that came with this realization from showing on his face.

Apparently he had done a rather shitty job of this, because Frieza put a soft hand on his shoulder and smiled sympathetically but sadly at him. "Do you want to talk about it, Vegeta?"

"No."

"If you do, I'd be happy to listen."

"I just want to put it on myself."

"Vegeta, I know you've changed Trunks' diapers, but I doubt if you've put one on yourself. It's much easier to diaper someone else than to diaper yourself. Besides, I'm sure your leg is causing you pain, and if you accidentally bumped it while trying to get your diapers on, it might worsen significantly."

"You watched me take care of him." He said it like a statement.

"Yes, I did. Your boy is beautiful, Vegeta. He looks just like his father."

"Mn."

"Vegeta, let me put your diapers on for you. I know it might feel uncomfortable, but there's no reason it has to be. When you were a baby and your father was busy, I used to watch you. I changed your diapers countless times then and I can do it now with no problem. It certainly doesn't bother _me._"

Vegeta sighed resignedly, once again aware that this was a fight he could not win. "I probably would hurt my leg."

Frieza smiled gently and went about unbuttoning Vegeta's pajamas again. When he'd unbuttoned them, he took them off and dropped them onto the floor. Then, he took hold of Vegeta's yellowed underwear and slid them off, being very careful with Vegeta's left leg as he did so. When he was exposed, Vegeta flushed hotly.

Frieza dropped the underwear onto the ground as well, and then went about preparing the materials he needed to diaper Vegeta properly. He took everything out of the laundry basket and set it on the bedside table. He took the package of disposable diapers and opened it and removed three. He opened the package of rubber pants and removed three of these as well. He opened the pack of suppositories and removed one, along with a small tube of a clear substance, which Vegeta assumed was some kind of lubricant.

"Is that suppository going to make me shit?" Vegeta asked, staring at the bullet shaped pill with a disgusted look on his face.

Frieza shook his head. "Of course not. These are aspirins. I thought that as long as I was going to be diapering you, you might as well take your painkillers through your bottom, because I know that those pills I was feeding you tasted simply _dreadful_."

"That's really all right, Frieza. I didn't mind the taste," Vegeta said quickly.

"These will also take effect more quickly. I know you're uncomfortable with this, but this is going to help with the pain, and you'll only need one. Now, can you move your right leg out a bit, Vegeta?"

Vegeta hesitated then moved his right leg obediently.

Frieza uncapped the lubricant and squeezed a bit of it onto the tip of the suppository. He set the tube of lubricant down and sat down on the bed beside Vegeta.

"Vegeta, lift your right leg for me."

Vegeta hesitated again, but ultimately did as he was told, his face becoming an astonishing shade of warm red when he exposed this part of him.

Smiling, Frieza said, "Now, Vegeta, just relax. This will only take a second."

Frieza slid the suppository up his bottom, and Vegeta yelped loudly upon the first moment of penetration, and his body jerked involuntarily, but only slightly, and his left leg was not disturbed. As Frieza pushed it up the rest of the way, the prince grunted loudly and irregularly.

When it was up far enough, Frieza looked up at him and smiled. "There, all done. That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"Yes, it was!" Vegeta said frantically, silently cursing himself for all the times he'd inserted suppositories into Trunks when Bulma insisted he needed one and was too lazy to do it herself.

Frieza chuckled softly and ruffled Vegeta's hair again. "Oh, I think you're overreacting, little one."

Vegeta simply grunted in disgust, his face reddened by a blush, and crossed his arms over his chest.

Frieza chuckled again and picked up the bottle of baby powder. He began sprinkling it on Vegeta's crotch when Vegeta said, "You're going to get it all over the bed."

"That's all right, Vegeta, I have to change the sheets either way."

He covered Vegeta's crotch with baby powder and then went about applying it to his bottom. Vegeta lay stiffly on the bed, his face beet red.

When he was finished with the powder, he picked up the bottle of lotion and squeezed a large amount into his hands.

Vegeta shook his head. "That's all right. I don't need lotion. The powder is fine."

"It's not. You'll get a rash if I don't use this. Just relax. We're halfway done."

With that, he began to massage the lotion into Vegeta's crotch, causing the prince to moan helplessly. Vegeta's hands groped for Frieza's and clutched them, trying to silence them, but Frieza simply pushed Vegeta's hands away and continued.

Vegeta squirmed weakly, moaning continuously, knowing what was going to happen if Frieza did not stop soon, and it didn't look like he would, because he did take his hands away but only for another squirt of lotion. He continued, massaging slowly and gently, until Vegeta came into his hands with a small cry.

Frieza simply laughed and took his hands away. "My goodness, I _must_ remember to do that. I always wondered what the best way to please you was, and now I think I've found my answer. I bet you're going to wet that diaper as soon as I get it on you so you can be changed again, won't you, my little Saiyan prince?" Frieza teased gently as he cleaned his hands.

Vegeta's face became an astonishing shade of red. "It's been over two months since I've had sex with my wife! I was too preoccupied with the androids to do anything else, you said so yourself! I'm famished!"

Frieza laughed heartily and patted his head. "I'm sure you are, my poor darling, but don't you worry any longer. I suppose you should be thankful that you have to wear diapers, Vegeta, and that you have me to change you." He gave Vegeta a small wink.

"I didn't like it!"

"Oh, I'm sure you didn't, my dear. But let's just see how quickly your diapers need changing before we make any judgment as to whether or not you liked it."

"You're not doing that to me again! When I said you could diaper me, I didn't mean you could give me a hand job!"

Frieza laughed again, almost _cackled_. "I see no difference."

Vegeta's face suddenly darkened with a rage Frieza had never seen in him, not even in all the years he'd had the boy and loved him. "Frieza, listen to me. I could have easily said, 'No, I'm not staying here', and gotten up and left. I could have _easily _done that. But I decided to stay, and I decided to trust you to take care of me. I showed you that I trusted you enough to diaper me. But I swear, if you slip back into your old ways again, I will _never _trust you. _Never_. If you ever do a thing like that again, I will get up and leave and that will be the last you'll see of me. You don't understand how lucky you are that I didn't leave, that you had the opportunity to do that to me. And if you _ever _take those opportunities for granted again, I swear, I'll go. Do you understand?"

Frieza stared at Vegeta with an expression that was comprised of regret and heavy shame. He saw Vegeta's look of hatred, saw the sadness that was instilled by the Ice-jin's betrayal, saw the hurt, and Frieza dropped his gaze, unable to look.

"Vegeta, I'm so sorry. I am so terribly sorry. I don't know what came over me. I suppose I am just so _used _to our previous relationship, so used to…to pleasuring you like that. You…you know I love you very much," Frieza said, fumbling for his words, unsure what to say that would excuse what he had just done.

"Do you understand?" Vegeta asked again, more sternly, some of the power he'd lost when he'd wet himself returning.

Frieza nodded sullenly. "I understand. I do. It will never happen again. I promise. I know you aren't my lover anymore, and I accept that. You're my son."

"We'll see."

Frieza looked up at him sadly for a moment then dropped his gaze again. "I'm sorry, Vegeta. Please forgive me. I need you to stay here where you belong."

"Well, then you had better watch yourself."

"Yes, I know."

"Good."

"Will you allow me to finish diapering you?"

"If you don't touch me down there, I suppose so."

"I won't. I promise."

He sprinkled a bit more powder on Vegeta without touching him, and lifted his legs and slid the disposable diaper beneath him. He pulled the front up through Vegeta's legs, brought the sides toward the center, and secured the tapes, making the diaper snug, and causing Vegeta to grunt slightly. Frieza put the other two diapers on over this one, saying it would ensure he did not leak, and then slipped on a pair of rubber panties to finish.

Frieza was tempted to pat his diapers when he'd gotten them on Vegeta, but thought better of it, and instead went about dressing him in his new pajamas. He buttoned them up and patted Vegeta's head.

"There, we're all finished. Now, I'm going to set you in that chair over there so I can change your bed sheets, and then we'll get you something to eat. All right?"

"Fine," he said, and, having been so shamed his dream forgotten, would later eat the meal he had been so adamant in refusing just minutes earlier.

Frieza carefully picked him up and carried him to the chair, set him down, and went about changing the bed. When the bed was dry and clean, he picked Vegeta up and carried him back, tucked him in, and gave him a small kiss on the cheek, causing Vegeta's face to redden again.

"I'm going to go get you some nice lunch now. I'll be right back."

He left the room, and after he was gone, Vegeta began to cry.

* * *

After a rather large lunch of turkey sandwiches smothered in gravy and huge mounds of mashed potatoes with three mugs of warm milk, the Saiyan prince sat sleepily up in bed, struggling to keep his eyes open as Frieza took the empty tray he'd used to bring the food to him out of his hands. Vegeta felt very groggy, but he wasn't surprised in the least, because big meals, especially turkey with gravy, tended to put him to sleep effortlessly. His eyelids were very heavy and sticky and he longed to allow himself to slip off into sleep more than anything, and even if the place itself was less than ideal to sleep in he would take what he could get, but with Frieza in the room, he didn't dare. He was already astonished he'd allowed himself to drift off before, after he'd taken his medication and Frieza had been massaging his temples.

And despite this discomfort, the discomfort of being in Frieza's presence and essentially being at his mercy, Vegeta felt very comfortable. Frieza had, even though he was ashamed to admit it, been right about the diapers. They were very soft, and they felt wonderful on his sensitive genitals, which had for years been suppressed by tight, unyielding underwear. Of course, however, he would never admit this.

His pain had also gone away completely, and he realized that the suppository, uncomfortable as it may be to have inserted and lodged in his bottom, had worked wonders on his broken leg. His aching body felt soothed and slightly numb, and his person, along with his mind, was very relaxed. He felt placated, calm, and whether this was also due to the aspirin or if it was due to the coziness of his bed or the heat of the fire or the heaviness of his lunch, he did not know, but he did not care. He was, without question, very comfortable.

Frieza seemed to notice this instantly. He touched Vegeta's cheeks, which were flushed with warmth and sleepiness.

"I think it's time for a nice, long nap," Frieza purred, smiling lovingly at the dozy prince.

Vegeta nodded in agreement, knowing he wouldn't be able to keep his eyes open for much longer.

"But first, do you need a diaper change?" Frieza inquired.

Vegeta shook his head. His diapers were a bit moist, but that was most likely due to perspiration caused by the heat of the bedroom.

Frieza undid his pajamas and poked a bony finger inside the left leg-hole of Vegeta's diapers, touching the crotch, wanting to affirm this for himself. Vegeta gave a soft cry of surprise as Frieza's finger prodded his penis, but was hastily pulled out. Frieza rubbed his pointer finger against the pad of his thumb on the same hand and shook his head.

"Let's get you into a nice dry diaper. You're a tad moist."

Vegeta blushed warmly as Frieza pulled back the blankets that covered him and swiftly removed the rubber pants and undid the three diapers he wore.

"Now, you don't need another suppository until after your nap, so we'll just use powder and lotion and get your diapers on and we'll be all done."

Frieza uncapped the baby powder and poured some into his hands and began massaging it into Vegeta's skin, applying it as unexcitingly as possible. He did the same with the lotion, skimming his crotch carefully and just barely grazing it with the smooth white substance. He slipped a new diaper beneath him and secured it, making it extremely snug, causing Vegeta to grunt.

Frieza smiled. "Nice and tight," he purred, turning Vegeta's face a deep shade of red. "We don't want it slipping off, now do we?"

He pulled out three more and slipped them on Vegeta and made them tight. He put on two pairs of rubber pants over these and patted Vegeta's thickly diapered crotch.

"There now, all done."

He buttoned Vegeta's pajamas back up and lovingly tucked him in beneath the covers. Then, he smiled and said, "I have something you'll love."

He left and came back with an electric blanket. He smiled softly, turned it on and adjusted it so it was on the warmest setting, and laid it on top of Vegeta's other blankets.

Vegeta's eyes drooped further when the heat began to soak through the other blankets.

Smiling, Frieza said, "Well, I'm going to go start dinner. I'll be back to check on you in a few hours." He pressed his lips against Vegeta's warm forehead and cooed, "Sweet dreams, my little angel."

When he left, Vegeta fell into a deep, peaceful sleep, and almost immediately.


End file.
